Makeup Bag


“What’s wrong” everyone asks

“Nothing, I’m just tired.” I reply

Reapplying my smile like lipstick

Smack on false happiness like shining lip gloss

It’s easier when I say everything’s fine.

It’s easier when they think everything’s perfect.

Isn’t it?


I’ve become the makeup artist of hiding.

I use my brushes and shades to paint a new face.

A brave one I use to showcase to the world.

Carefully applying the concealer to hide my pain.

Expertly stroking on mascara to hide my fatigue.

would you even recognize me without the layers I put on?

I don’t think you would be able to comprehend.

How much this makeup covers.


Rheumatoid arthritis is my blemish.

You don’t believe because I’m always wearing makeup.

 Touch my joints and feel their heat.

Look at how swollen my hands get when I’m “tired.”

I want so badly for someone to wipe of my makeup.

But I’m scared of what you might say.

I have faced too many comments.

All of them about how I’m too young.

They suggest diets, supplements and exercises.



Everyone loves the me they see.

But they see the makeup and never me.




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