How to be beautiful

Today I started another spreadsheet this time titled, "How to Become a Bad Bitch." It's hidden in a folder with the others "My Glam Plan" "How to Be a Hot Girl" "Getting My Life Together."

Even though I'm older now I have yet to figure it out the secret, serum, formula, routine to being "hot" "sexy" "it."

My partner says not to worry You're cute You're pretty You're sweet

The words toll like a death bell or a gavel pronouncing me guilty of not trying hard enough to be "what I am." A kind pointing finger that says I'm lazy resisting my final form.

I won't be done until I find it the thing I'm missing but supposed to have.

I was born a woman born with an obligation to be an immortal maiden, vixen, muse. It's supposed to be my birthright to seduce, beguil, enchant. A power innate to me as natural as breathing air.

You're a woman after all. Go ahead, walk into a room and a soft breeze will toss your hair inside a closed building as the world moves in slow motion defying physics and your eyemakeup momentarily becomes more intense.

Our horrible secret is that it's not born in us but a given obligation we're challenged to meet. And the great irony is the prize is being woman enough when all I ever wanted was to be human enough.