I bow down to the great empress;
Defeated.
The masks that smile
and cover
my flaws
with a different type of
paintbrush.
My face near
perfection;
I smile when instructed
obedient longing
to unflaw the flawless
with an
artificial blush
but suppress my smile when
my lips are told to:
tighten.
I succumb
to not fighting
not poking
what is rightfully
mine.
And my blotches are
blemished.
Then, sweeping away
the gunk
into a brown residue,
away from my eyes, lips.
I look to the mirror and I see
my small spots
and dainty disfigurements,
I look back to the mirror
and I see,
me.
©AJMwrites2020
AJM Writes 