Oil perculates from the deep yellow skin,

a false smile perfereates deep from within,

the heart feels like this could be a sin,

waiting for the alarm to go off so I could begin.

The yellow oil is swiped away so I could disguise,

the dark brown powder covering my bright eyes,

deep red puffs are the cheek's demise,

and the wet black wand makes a reprise.

Imperfection. The then and the now.

Covering up...it's what makes it unbearable,

seeing yourself in a mask of heavy colors

until there is nothing else. Even after you take it off.

Compliments are skin-deep, and you are 

left with nothing but a shell, until

you get the feeling that you are not yourself anymore,

you are just the mask with your name engraved in it.

It has replaced you.

The flying false colors are finally thrown away, 

and there is a sense of relief that you are 

free. Free from the cakey mess that was whispered to

by the magazines and the jittery popular kids with 

severe eating disorders. 

Then, there is relief that there is something more,

something that you have missed in the midst

of your sorrow, and then you realize that it was

you. You all along.

Oil perculates from the deep yellow skin, and 

you smile because it is you. And you don't take it off 

because it is you and it is shiny and it is yellow like your

heritage. A hair brush and a tooth brush will do it,

maybe some face wash too, but that is 

it.

Take your keys and your dreams, and go

to school because you want to. 

Eat breakfast and drink too much water and sing wildly

and dance badly and make no sense,

because the real boys like the real girls.

Now, open your bright eyes and get your shiny keys 

and walk out the broken door that you had locked long ago.