Poem On Makeup
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She walks down the perfectly paved road
With her head held high and a smile that softens the corners of her eyes.
An upbeat melody is blasting through her eardrums
Causing the 10-minute walk to become just that much more appealing.
She puts one foot in front of the other as one beat follows the next,
With her luscious wavy hair dancing to the rhythm of the whispering wind
That sets it to trail behind her
Sharp eyebrows, curled lashes, sparkling lips and rosy cheeks.


They don't know.

She is crumbling,
Under the weight of
The heavy foundation and concealer that are so thick,
They have become a mask of lies,
Protecting her from her own self-esteem;
The dark, creamy contour
That is an unnecessary accessory to the crime of disbelief,
Darkening a face that is meant to stay pale;
The bright yet wistful golden eyeshadow with a hint of desolation,
Which only drains her eyes of the ocean blue and the evergreen pine,
Leaving behind a seemingly colorful façade of a drowning crease on each lid,
Making it more difficult for her smile to fully emerge
Because it has to fight the gravity of layers she has forced upon herself.

Just for a second, her body senses her lack of purity
And she notices every inch of the stroke of the brush(es)
That caressed her face this morning.
And instead of letting the sun kiss and bless her cheeks with colorful freckles,
She hides behind the immaculate mask that she constructed,
Feeling slightly uncomfortable and suffocated
By the lack of freedom that's obstructing her naturally soft skin.

She then realizes that it's not the beat
Of the beautiful summer song
That is pushing her feet to move forward but
Doubt and Loneliness
That the brumous, furious wind has brought along,
Raising her desire to grasp on to the mask,
As if it's meant to conceal her authenticity
Instead of empowering her.
No longer is she easily lifted and floating
By her agile and genial spirit among the breeze;
She is tucking back her locks
As she looks nervously at the slow-moving ground beneath her,
Letting Anxiety catch up to Doubt and Loneliness.

It is now four of them, walking together
Side by side, air in lungs, hand in hand;
As if they're friends
Who have known each other's secrets and sorrows,
But in reality, they are so much more—
They go way back to freshman year of high school
When she picked up her first brush
To cover a bothering, discolored imperfection.


It's an addiction.
Enforced by societal standards,
Impeding her thriving,
Making her wonder
Why all of the sudden they're glaring.
Perhaps she's missed a spot with her pseudo wand this morning,
Or maybe that wavy lock has finally resisted
The tight unwavering demeanor of the morning curler,
The burning residue of which she can still smell
By the enhancement of the autumn wind
As she scampers past by the breathtaking sunset

To get home

And take it


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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.

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