Laurie: A Self Portrait REVISED 2026

I watch my reflection as if it belongs to a stranger. Brown eyes—indigenous, Puerto Rican—dance with a youth that belies my fifty-four years. Almond-shaped, perfectly spaced, serious lips part in awe of the image. A soul created to be held in a vessel much too young for its nine-month journey.

There is the nose, reshaped by a surgeon’s steel at sixteen, nostrils tapered straight to spite the Malibu Barbie dream. I’ll say no more of the "after"— and you don't want to know the "before." There are the ears that lean outward, still ringing with the ghost of Guns N’ Roses.

I possess a deadpan demeanor, a blend of salt and satire. “Why are you laughing? I’m not trying to be funny.” But the wit is old; it followed me out of the birth canal. My stories were wrapped with me in the amniotic sac. When they ask where the gift comes from, I tell them it was the Keebler Elves.

I look at this imperfect person with a new compassion, owning this skin more than the girl ever could. I once traded my natural brown for dreams of blonde, but now I wouldn’t trade a single strand. It is mine—complete with the red highlights of Irish ancestors and the stoic gravity of the Germans and Austrians.

My reflection reveals more than a face; it is a map of a life lived, the good and the jagged. I am a woman of fifty-four, yet I stare with the wide, fascinated eyes of a toddler, looking past the surface, regarding the depth beyond mere face value.

I ask for a regard that runs deeper than a glance. Do not view me from the vantage point of your own mirror. See yourself as yourself—but see Me as Me.

This is why my circle is small, a few souls gathered over the decades. They have learned my rhythms; they see me as I was meant to be seen. They love me, they allow me to dislike myself, and they hold the space between.

Whether speaking poetically, whimsically, or choosing the sacred weight of silence— This is Laurie. Known not by all, but known by enough. There is safety in the smallness. There is joy in the circle of those who "get it," those who are real enough to meet my gaze.


-Laurie Perrone
copyright 2024

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