Masquerade Ball

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She puts on makeup before she goes to work.

She is perfection.

She goes into the office.

She smiles, they smile back.

She forgets about last night, about how angry he was.

She erases the images of his morphed face.

She dissociates herself from the memory of hands encircled around her neck, choking.

She covers her scars, her bruises, her blackened eyes with deep purple eyeshadow.

She is responsible for his actions.

She is perfection.

 

She puts her makeup on before she goes to work.

She is perfection.

She goes onto the streets and into the alleys.

She smiles, they sneer back.

She sells her soul for tomorrow's rent.

She takes off her clothes as they laugh and take and soil.

She hears the sirens as they come to destroy her world.

She holds her head up for her mug shot, her tears trailing eyeliner down her face.

She is called a "whore" and locked away.

She is perfection.

 

She puts on makeup before she goes to work.

She is perfection.

She goes out to her car.

She smiles, they cry back.

She watches as their father takes them away for the last time.

She holds her head high as the judge tells her that he gets custody.

She glosses her lips that will never graze their faces again.

She is the loser, and they have moved on.

She is perfection.

 

I put on makeup before I go to school.

I am perfection.

I go out into the hallways.

I melt into a system where I am one of thousands.

I become measured by my numerical value, my rank, my intelligence.

I shuffle through my classes, while they stare and judge.

I watch as they eat with their friends, while I feel so alone and misunderstood. 

I place my face in my hands, removing some of my blush.

I am the student, and I must conform.

I am perfection.

 

We put on makeup everyday in order to cope with our existence.

We are perfection.

We should be aloud to define ourselves.

We should not have to smile, while they judge us back.

We should be measured by our character, not their imposed values.

We should not have to take their names and definitions.

We should not take their abuse.

We should wipe off our makeup and remove our secrets, our shame, our inner pain, our anxiety.

We are special.

We make our own perfection.

 

I do not put on makeup before I go to school.

I am imperfect.

I meet the astonished gazes of peers and faculty.

I am judged.

I am laughed at.

I am vulnerable.

I smile with unpolished lips and unbroken spirit.

I am beautiful.

I am imperfect, and that is the definition of true perfection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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