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Make-up Box

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Lay the foundation,
Softly, evenly.
Disguise the tearstains; the sorrow.
Build a façade of apathy.

Concealer next:
to hide the stress and sleepless nights.
A touch of rouge to
help me feel.

Mask the eyes with confidence.
Line them to define it.
Mascara to heighten it.

Paint on a smile
and deceive the world.

Add a dab of irony
to the neck and wrists:
“Happy.”

Translucent power sets it all,
molds the mask to my skin.
It lets them see what they want to see.

I’ve gone so far, tried so hard.
I do not recognize the face reflecting back at me,
or the girl smiling in the pictures.

What have I become?
A parody of me.
Courtesy of my make-up box.





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