This poem attempts to address the ridiculous beauty standards that are suffocating women today. Women should not feel threatened by one another. If we keep things up, we will end up destroying one another.
Master of Emulation
She was beautiful in the way a forest fire is beautiful.
Nightshade sits on her sofa.
Its soft cushions and satin pillows beckon her to close her eyes.
Emeralds spill from her mouth, leave her smile sunken,
Drowning in stained lipstick,
A ship all but forgotten at the bottom of a sparkling sea.
When you’re genetically engineered to be perfect, the world still looks at you
As if you were ugly. They scoff at the slightest sign of complaint,
Roll their eyes as you walk past, whisper and point and giggle.
What they don’t realize is that pretty exteriors can mask the deadliest of gifts.
Oleander cannot be picked without giving you a burn,
Cannot be eaten without putting you in a coma and eventually killing you.
They can look but cannot open you up and see your insides.
Nightshade wanted nothing more than to light the world on fire.
Nightshade walks on the dirty sidewalk, leaving a trail of jewels behind her.
She cuts off all her hair,
Paints her body black to cover up the shine inside of her
Until she is unrecognizable.
She finally looks like everyone else.
Creation begins with destruction.