Amanda Seyfried by Alyssa Lerner
i used to think people were most beautiful when they cried
like amanda seyfried in the film version of mamma mia
her wide set eyes would glisten with tears, rimmed in pink,
two, or three would glide across her white cheeks
the people in her world would hear her quiet sniffles
to tilt their heads at her, empathetically
and wipe her tears away
dont worry sophie, you’ll find out which guy is your dad is in like 50 minutes
when i would cry, i’d go to the bathroom,
and stare into the mirror
at the pink rims around my shiny eyes
and imagine myself as her,
on a picturesque mountainside,
the world stopping for my simple, beautiful tears
falling over my brown freckled skin.
i’d tilt my head empathetically at myself
and wipe my own tears away.
except that wouldn’t make me stop crying
with thick, heaving breaths
and the next day my eyelids would be swollen and fold weirdly
my nose would be pink and irritated
and people would tell me you look tired
and I’d say, oh
and wonder if amanda seyfried ever looks tired
or at least
she didn’t in mamma mia
i can hear you say, well, its just a movie
and, yes. but.
whole theaters of people
stop for your beautiful tears
at 7:20, 8:50, and 10:00pm.
people like me aren’t in the movies
and others don’t stop for our tears
because they don’t feel like they have to.
our tears aren’t in the movies
so our pain isn’t real
and I think I might be tired
because, at some point,
i ceased to stop for myself, too.
now, i think that, when i cry,
i am ugly
i am vulnerable and drippy,
i am real and pained
and i deserve to have time