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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

and stop

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



she doesn’t

or at least

she didn’t in mamma mia

i can hear you say, well, its just a movie

and, yes. but.

in movies,

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

to stop.



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