I see you.

Every morning.

Angry girl.

As we leave for work, loaded trucks carrying us to a jobsite, I see you on the sidewalk, pumping your fists.

Your arms.

For a few seconds each morning, I watch.

Furrowed brow, leaning hard into a wind that isn’t there, swinging your locked-straight arms as your feet thump the concrete.

Determined.

Burning calories.

But wearing a frown.

Like you’re mad at someone.

Like someone told you you’d be pretty if you just lost a few pounds.

Or a few inches.

Like someone isn’t treating you the way you deserve to be treated.

Don’t you know? You don’t have to be twiggy to be beautiful.

Don’t you know you deserve to be treated well?

Can’t you see?

You’re already pretty.

Except maybe for the frown.

I hope you figure it out.

I hope he figures it out.

I hope you stop frowning.

Angry girl.