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
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.