Plates
She wakes up
Sleep deprived but it doesn’t matter.
Doesn’t matter because
Covering up dark circles
Is more important that getting rid of them.
She brushes her hair.
Singeing the life out of the strands
That long to curl.
Because straight is beautiful.
She paints colors onto her face.
She is a mime
Whose silent screams
Are masked as desperate cries for help.
But no one hears them.
Because no one is listening.
But colors mask more than silence.
They mask veins.
They make them disappear.
But they didn’t bother her at first.
She didn’t know they were wrong
Until someone told her that they were.
In fact, that’s where it all began.
She loved her imperfections
Until someone told her she shouldn’t.
Her curves and edges
Were more than just a song
But a song is not enough
To remove the venom from snakes.
Now the black line around her soul
Says more about her
Than what she chooses to see.
It is the ink stain
On a silk canvas
Dominating the pattern
When in fact the reality
Is the opposite.
She shrugs off compliments
Because insults dominate her shoulders
They are the valley of the shadow of death
Where no man has dared to walk
Because fear and evil
Mirage the promised land.
She locks out love
Because her veins have
Strengthened by pumping darkness.
Her heart beats
Not out of necessity
But out of habit.
And one day
Lying cold on steel tracks
The ransom will be given
And the victim released.
Not unscathed
But shattered, not to be repaired.
If only the ticking could reverse
And the plates
Could bandage the pieces.
But the remedy is not the affection of class.
Because the risk of contamination is too high.
And the bacteria too strong.
The remedy is her acceptance of
Dark circles,
And veins,
And the absence of the black line.
Because naked is beautiful.
And so is she.