“It’s alright,” momma said. “We’ll have you fixed, sweetie.”
They excised parts of me as if they were tumors… upgraded me as if I were a machine.
They added some; they removed some.
But somehow managed to leave behind the cancer of self-doubt.
I learned to live with the stranger in the mirror.
Because no one ever made fun of her face.
Twenty-five years later, I teach my daughter something that I wish my momma had taught me instead.
“You’re beautiful, sweetie. Just the way you are… If someone tells you otherwise, you punch them right in the nose job.”
© 2013 K.Z. Morano