The young girl beams into her screen
And makes herself look more seen
She’s got a flair for pink tones
And a neon glow
Without which she can hardly be
Adds a little filter here and there
Taking control of her narrative,
How does she dare?
No longer is she bound
To her external appearance —
She can choose to be
Whoever she chooses
Black-and-white for 20s beauty queen
Or pop-art, the colors bursting at the seams
She tells the tale she feels is real —
The reel becomes a way to
fossilize what she feels —
And so what if it isn’t
true to appearances?
Isn’t it still a way to be creative?
Her baby pictures may not be edited
But that does not give them more merit
Because editing is a way for the girl
to take control of her own narrative —
No longer can the photographer tell her
How to pose or dress
When her self-timer and Lightroom
Are all she needs to look her best —
And after a long, hard day
When she comes home
And she is all alone,
Who better to smile at
Than herself?
