I don’t want to be a woman
who can’t leave my house
without lipstick on my lips.
I’ll let the mirror crumble,
turn to dust beneath my feet.
My face is just my face
not a canvas for your product
not a portal for your pleasure
not eye candy for your tongue.
The lines belong to me
the stories that I’ve seen
echoing in silent screams.
Every cell and flaw
I’ve earned like the scar
From wishing on
falling stars.
The tear-stained trails
that reside after broken
hearts and full out lies.
Glossy pages from magazines
were gobbled up in my youth
and regurgitated, but once
recycled I was free.
I don’t need foundation
to smother my soul,
it shines through my cheeks
and radiates from my jaw line.
No contouring away the edges
from the life I’ve lived
felt it claw at the skin
pulled taught between my vision
and the things I hear.
