Morning Ritual

Every Morning,

Before I leave the house,

I stand in the bathroom mirror.

The mask I wear to disguise my face,

I hold it between

My thumb and index finger

On my left hand.

Before I put my mask on,

I look at myself in the mirror.

Then, in approval, I smile.

I smile so big, that all my bright teeth

Can be seen.

And I ask my reflection,

"Can you accept me?"

Then,

I put my right hand on my hip

And sturdy my posture

As I lift my chin up proudly.

And I answer myself saying,

"Yes I Can."

But then,

The smile leaves my face

As I purse my lips

And I raise one eyebrow

In inquisition.

I place my palms onto the sink basin,

The mask still hanging between my fingers,

And lean into the mirror more seriously.

Then I ask myself,

"Can the WORLD accept me?"

My serious posture softens

As a light smile crosses my face.

I chuckle lightly, shrug my shoulders

And slightly tilt my head

As I answer,

"Who cares."

Then, I look down at the basin

thoughtfully

As I bring my hands together

And cup my mask in my palms.

Then,

I slide the mask onto my face

And walk toward the front door.

In my mind,

I answer my question again,

"I guess I do."