Her styrofoam hands,
Those makeup compact lips, a greasy smile.
It's like all your neurons engrave her image in cracked limestone
Brittle and disgusting
And yet you pick up the lipstick,
And you paint your flesh.
Once she was simply someone you didn't want to become.
Now she's a shell you wear,
To make others think you've finally become someone.
YOU ARE READING
a little about love
Poetry"When he smiles, does it feel like your cheeks seem to have a mind of their own?" This is a personal collection of short poems about love and its up's and down's. Enjoy different perspectives of falling in love, including honest narrations from a c...
