I mentioned this poem once before, though I haven’t actually written it out on here. This is one of the few poems I’ve written that I actually think is alright. And, as I put on Fictionpress, thanks to the teacher at my college who helped me redraft this.
She lives with her face covered, in bright colours and substances.
She gazes from afar at the mask she has constructed,
at the permanence of her façade.
She can’t see what she has done to herself, for them.
She can only see the smiles and hear the appreciation,
for the picture she has so carefully created.
One day, she would go somewhere – a private place to be alone.
She would sit and watch as the process was prepared,
to remove the plastic, the fake, the cover.
She would extract the wetted cloth from the packet.
She would wipe away the red, the blue, the black,
from her cheeks, and her eyelids, and her lips.
She would work until it was all gone, until none of it was left.
She would gaze at the sight she had uncovered,
and only then would it be revealed
that she was truly beautiful.