I See the Milky Way

Looking into a mirror, she peels off her skin and puts it on inside out. The air assaults her exposed flesh, stinging the parts of her she’s stared at for too long. Her eyes draw constellations across her skin, connecting one flaw to another as if she’s a galaxy with a black hole at its center. It swallows stars and spews out asteroids, choking her with darkness. Being blind makes it nearly impossible for her to see what makes her beautiful.

When she sees nothing but black, I see the milky way.