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I stare at her freckles, and I just don't understand;
I don't understand why she stares down her reflection,
blaming a mirror that will never tell her what she wants to hear.
Won't these miserable spots ever leave her be?
She asks, she pleads, she begs, as a long drawn-out sigh escapes her lips.
I don't understand the toxic chemicals with which she scrubs her face.
The home remedies, the beauty creams, the crackled layers of foundation –
they can barely fade the defiant freckle spatter.
Perhaps she will never stop scrubbing,
in hopes of peeling off her treacherous skin.
And I don't understand,
Because I love her adorable little freckles,
sprinkling the tops of her nose and the apples of her cheeks.
I find it adorable the way they dance around the crinkles of a timid smile
or a burst of laughter.
I use to draw little brown dots on myself
to imitate the lucky ones.
And perhaps she will never know,
And that would be a shame.
Because when she looks at my naked nose,
She thinks the same.
So tell her now, tell her loud,
Tell her to be proud!
And the world will be a little better
As she goes to sleep tonight
Thinking of your voice's sound.