MAC: Age Is Just A Number



Rushing to the ebony beauty store,

Shooting like a swift cannon,

I gaze upon stunning mahogany cosmetic brushes.

I reach the vine of goat-hair bristles;

I pluck the highest one with pure excitement.

As I bring it down,

I fix upon a smooth piece of cocoa brown treasure.

Never have I felt something as soft as this before,

But my delight was soon to be over.


I turn around and see thousands of painted hawks glaring at me;

As if I was to be their next meal.

I see the mature customers in the jet-black cosmetic store;

The workers did not exchange a single dirty look to them.

A look that pierced my soul.

I wondered – why was I the only one?

And then suddenly…

I glanced at the mirror lined by bright luminescent lights, and I asked myself

What do they think a teen like me is capable of doing?

Nothing, I abruptly left.


It’s a shame,

I really did like that brush.


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