i paint my face with a roller brush, making sure to cover all my spots and freckles; no trace of skin should be found.
i set my paint with tan pressed powder; multiple layers set the paint to dry.
i brush bronze and pink hues too, adding colour to my "skin." make sure that it looks real enough; cannot let them in.
blend colours on my eyelids; god these palettes cost a fortune; five brushes used and four colours slapped on my face roughly to cover red, puffy eyes. consider this my cry for help. consider this bag of cosmetic me reaching out; consider it my hand stretching to say "please i cannot control this hatred of my own skin any longer; please take it from me as i am not to be trusted; as i cannot save what is left of myself."
instead, of telling someone, i paint red on my lips and keep them shut, as if glue were applied as i give a fake smile and use my fake happy eyes.
consider this my cry.
YOU ARE READING
this little fight
Poetryi paint my eyes with words and my mind with thoughts. a collection of slam poems.
