I paint my lips and rouge my cheeks,
Line my eyes in silver.
A twist of hair
Through veils I seek
To see the world, at last, clearer.
I've hidden my own rejection,
Under layered pastel powder,
A face of duller, truer color,
Pondering perfection.
We, as a whole, have acquiesced,
Growing number by the hour,
From us, our souls they´ve wrest.
This seems, to conjure, in my mind,
A crimson, toxic flower.
We analyze the mirror's reflection,
Seeing only shards of glass,
Glued together by deceit.
We walk in public,
Eyes glued to feet,
Memories float by,
Of the morning spent in vain,
Curling, tinting, dyeing.
Yet afraid, we remain, of crying,
For the mascara upon our lashes,
Would trickle to our jaws,
And stain our lovely sashes.
No matter the time we devote to changing,
We will never be enough,
When they tell us to be tough,
Ignore the lies,
And yet between the lines we read,
Through watching we heed,
That they themselves are dying.
Yet in their smiles we see,
That at least as they fade they look pretty,
And to the world,
It seems,
That is satisfying.