My mother wakes up everyday,
And does her hair and makeup.
She blow dries the wet tendrils
and curls her lashes.
She covers her blemishes
And puts on lipstick.
She carefully picks out her outfits
And makes sure that her hair is in place;
And she tells me that these are things that women do everyday
Because they are supposed to.
But I wake up everyday,
And run my fingers through my curly hair.
I look at myself in the mirror
And shrug at the pimples on my skin.
I throw on the first pair of pants I see
And take a random shirt from my cluttered closet.
My hair is never in place,
My blemishes never covered.
Sometimes
I think it's better to just be,
Than to try and catch up with what the world thinks I'm supposed to be.
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Love and Other Fuckups
PoetryA collection of poems and drabbles about things such as life, love, and fucking up.