There is a face in the mirror intently staring back at you
Attempting to recognize the one it views
You are spellbound for one quick moment, in such wonderment
As your eyes meet, and you both realize that it is you
Was it not just yesterday that you were young and naive
Without the wisdom you now hold in your eyes
Now a stranger is boldly looking back with an unflinching gaze
Brazenly daring you to try her on for size
You briefly pause in sheer amazement at these eyes you see
Beaming back at you with a strength unknown
You smile in appreciation and accept yourself as your own
Sit up proudly and put your makeup on
Months ago, I used to apply makeup
for the sole purpose of feeling beautiful,
part of me adored the curve in my eyeliner
or the red in my lipstick; it made me confident,
it made me feel like my smile was brighter,
like any and everything I did, was wonderful.
I can't be sure when the shift happened,
but I find myself less and less capable
of enjoying the morning's application process.
I suppose it's because I no longer wear it for pleasure
but rather, to cover the darkness under my eyelids,
to mask the discoloration in my skin,
and to hide my far too visible exhaustion.
She’s still got her makeup on
from the last night that she lived.
The blue in her crease, the electric shade
fuzzing out, like the awkward ending of a telephone call,
if people even make those
I wonder if they do.
Her hair half curled,
her smile still set,
from flashing itself across the room
again and again
dance after dance.
I wonder if she’ll change her clothes before she goes out again.
New time, new place,
But new faces can mean same clothes, same face,
same made-up face,
to greet one another.
A bit of rearranging is all it will take
for the girl to continue on
without making any change to herself.
She can play the game for another night.
I wonder if she’ll do this again when tonight comes to an end.
There is a list I compiled, metaphor following metaphor,
of all of the ways that I love you.
It has been folded so many times over that
the crease could be a love line of its own.
And the scotch tape holding the bottom half
is or was or will be my paranoia
concerning words that shouldn't be read
by anyone other than myself, however,
speaking said words won't send a chill down my spine
or create a sweat colder than the looks you've given me
when I've opened my mouth to let loose butterflies.
The paper is smaller than a legal sheet,
because I folded over the margins, and tore
off what I thought was unnecessary space.
Space between the lines between us is a waste,
so no matter how many recycled thoughts are processed,
in the end I can always turn the page over.
It always took you an hour to get ready
from the time we agreed to leave.
Jokingly, I called this your temperamental makeup,
and you told me that I was confusing
the definition of the word "makeup,"
but to leave your disposition out of this.
Certainly, I told you, but wanted to be clear
that I was speaking in terms of vanity.
And you told me in terms of clarification
that I shouldn't speak, at all.
You weren't blushing,
you haven't in quite some time,
and your foundation was rocky,
because of a heavy atmosphere.
But your black eyes always looked breathtaking.
Which had never been applied by me.
You hated yourself enough to manage that job alone.
And in that moment
I realized that was the reason
you never cried.
It was always easier to
blot your lips, seal
your notes with a kiss,
and whisper goodbyes.
My generations at a hold up
Force fed lies by society
We're never gonna grow up
Preoccupied with what we need
We subconsciously become devoured by greed
Insecurity is at the bottom of consumption
"You need __ to succeed"
We're the last of a dying breed
Our genetics have mutated
We're no longer able to wake up
From the nightmare we've created
Identification has taken a new definition
You are what you posess
Unaware the latest trend is only repetition
Sheltered by our ignorant need
Progress is our main goal
Yet we're unsure of how to proceed
So instead we proclaim our need for change
While spending the last of our common sense
On a fee to enter this stage
Which acts as our cage
Locking us into society's game
It's the final act
Our last chance to fame
Like a dog.
I don’t have control.
From my eyes.
Every goddamn night.
But I need to see.
I need to test me.
Why did I have to say yes then.
Why did I have to... To bend.
Cause now it hurts more than ever,
I bent my heart backwards like a lever.
Looking out the window,
I can’t see.
Looking into the night,
I have no sight.
Looking into the past,
I thought this would last,
Looking into your eye,
I didn’t think I would cry,
Last night was my test, It was my hell.
Last week was my start, Ripping out my heart.
I can’t stay!