I look in the mirror,
and don't like what I
see.
Eyes red and puffy
from hours of sobbing.
All silently of course;
can't have anyone thinking
that you are not a sturdy
and tough as they think.
Cheeks pale and colorless,
from so many days in.
All sacrificed just to
take care of everyone else.
To prove that they can always
count on you.
The lips worn and weary,
from so many fake smiles
and white lies, just to
make sure that you could
smile, simply one more time.
So I retrieve the handy
tools and colors of life while
I try to keep the tears
from flowing.
Eyeshadow for the eyes.
a simmer of baby pink
and a nice natural
bronze. Lining two lifeless
colored and pained eyes
with a gentle nightsky blue.
Baby blush to give
life and color to
the hollow and depressed
cheekbones.
The perfect lipgloss
that allows the
illusion of smiling
through it's sparkle.
The shade itself brings
summer to the winter
lips.
Lastly, mascura for
the wet eyelashes.
The little brush making the
old eyelashes immortal
and life filled- but it
does nothing to the lifeless
eyes they surround. just makes the gates
around them look open
and inviting someone to ask
what is their story.
Pulling on a tired smile,
a determined spark in the
ghost eyes ignites the firework.
Opening the curtains with a grand
introduction- let the acting begin.
I now see something I like.
YOU ARE READING
My Cutting
PoesiaRaw emotion from eyes that have to fake alot of happiness while watching the world burn up in flames as the ruthlessness of the people go unnoticed by one another. -Rebecca Atkinson
