November 28, 2009
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Skin ID. Proactiv. Clearasil. Clean & Clear. So many option to use… Which one? I hate how I look in the morning when I first look in the mirror! Ugh, I’m so ugly. My face isn’t necessarily hideous- I just am cursed with several bouts of acne spread considerably over the regions of my skin. It’s hard to make people see the more attractive qualities of my face when red traffic lights are glued to my pores. A few around my chin are rough and scabbed over, the skin dried out. It hurts when I pick at it. Pick, pick, pick. To make it smooth like the other parts of my face. It burns when I wash it. Then it’s red and irritated. I press a wet wash cloth to my skin to keep it from bleeding. Once it stops leaking, I remove a tube of holy concealer and foundation. Not the cheap kind, either. I’m talking about the nine-dollar-each, advertisement-brand makeup. I didn’t buy it. I don’t have that kind of money, so I stole it. Because I needed to. I apply the concealer over the pimples and acne scars and shadows. Then I take a special makeup-artist’s brush and dab it in until it blends in with my skin. I brush powder over my whole face and blend it in. I am very critical at this stage; I do not, not, not want to be labeled as the girl with the cake-y base. No! Never! I hate those girls who have orange faces and think they are the s***. It’s like, don’t you know your complexion looks like you smacked your face in the dirt??!!! I’m a hypocrite if I have that sort of problem… But I don’t. Thank God. My skin tone is even. No red marks or skin differences anywhere! Yay! Good thing I was born with artistic talents.

Eyeliner. Mascara. Lip gloss. Lip stick. Special brushes. I color in my eyebrows slightly. Just enough to make it look natural with my black-dyed hair. Mascara on my already full-lashes to make my hazel eyes pop. Not too much, though. I don’t want to look cheap! I dab on lipstick with my finger. I don’t want it to look like I have any on. I glance at the clock, and realize I only have twenty minutes before it’s time to leave for school.
I finish up quickly and move on to my hair.
Brush. Blow dry. Hair spray. Clips. Comb. Flat iron. Frizz spray.
My hair is silky and dark when it is done. Or it looks that way. It feels like hay because of how much I do to it. But I don’t care. I brush it out and let it fall into my face a little bit. Perfect.
I look a little shy, and my hair covers some of the spots where I always feel the acne shines through my makeup. I put on perfume and deodorant so I don’t smell. I bring all my makeup to school in my purse. I will miss out on a few important things today in class because I’m preoccupied with my reflection. I have to enjoy it while I look pretty. And I do. In a natural way. I don’t wear eye shadow or eyeliner because I think that since I used so much foundation, I can’t afford any extras. That it will make me look like a clown. Honk, honk on a rubber nose, Clown Girl.
Why can’t I be normal? With a nice complexion and normal insecurities. Who do I care about judging me? Everyone! Even the people I say don’t matter.
I leave my house frazzled and vulnerable. Like my face before I put makeup on it in the morning.
It’s humid outside and I can already feel my pores sweating for air. I will wipe my first layer of makeup off before I get to school and reapply it so it looks fresh. I always do. By the end of the day, though, I won’t feel fresh. I’ll feel cake-y and dusty and dried out. Just like my skin.

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