As we move higher up on my face,

the sensations becomes more intense,

each weekly hour feels longer.

I do not subscribe to the motto

that beauty is pain.

So much beauty simply exists

naturally and without effort.

The wings of a butterfly,

the sweetness in my dog’s eyes,

the personalities of my loved ones.

I want to add that my own inner beauty

does not hurt.

Or does it?

The burden of being beautiful

in ways the world can’t see

and won’t accept.

Maybe it is only the hiding of my actual self

that is truly painful.

And so this is part of being born

and stepping into the light.

Neither is ever comfortable.

I am sacrificing

and preparing for my future self.

She won’t remember

every single torturous session,

the precise sting of the needle,

the exact sharpness of its bite.

By then,

the day she walks freely in the sunshine,

this will all be faded memories,

hours I was happy to

let the locusts feast on,

something difficult

she had to endure

to get where she wanted to be.

The now feels endless.

A hundred pricks and jabs.

The future is beautiful but distant

and hopefully as eternal.

May her joy then

feel as expansive

as my hurt does now

and echo even longer,

a contagious ripple

like her giggle.

May the seeds I plant

yield her beautiful flowers.

I try to give this suffering meaning

and thereby endure it.