My very first lover, he was the most judgmental.
It started with my hair. Too short, he said.
Then my brows. Untamed, too bushy, he said.
My chest, too flat, of course – he didn’t have to tell me.
Finally…finally…I became what he desired.
And then I killed him.
Sometimes now, in my vanity mirror, I can see his stare still, for his eyes belong to me, you see. The “he” was once me. It was he who shaped me…and not just my brows!