i’m a step latter.
i’m kept between your fridge and the wall and barely make appearances.
you only take me out when you need to reach the cereal from the top cupboard.
you only use me when you’re in need.
i guess i can say you rely on me...
in a way.
but you won’t let anyone else use me for fear of them getting hurt.
then you’d have to shave out some money for their hospital bill to fix what i did.
so after you’ve gotten your cereal, and the box is back in place, you shove me back between your fridge and the wall.
sometimes,
you forget i’m there completely.
you’ll use the counter instead to hoist up and grab a bag of chips.
and when you fall from trying to get down , you’ll run back to me,
“i should’ve come to you,” you’ll say.
but i know you’ll reclimb that counter when you don’t wanna use me.
you don’t have to flatter me.
i know you’re tired of me.
you need the space between your fridge and the wall for your new step latter.
it’s a better step latter, i’ll admit.
it doesn’t wobble when it unfolds.
it’s made of strong, shiny metal as opposed to my cracked plastic.
and when i’m hiding between the tree and a trash outside, i realize you didn’t want me.
you just needed something to stand on.

i wear my religion like i wear my makeup.

i put it on when i’m suppose to.

my face shines with the highlight
of the Holy Spirit on my cheekbones.

lipstick stains a bible verse which
i use for every circumstance
“God” throws at me.

i line my eyes with the blackness
of my heart and i let “God” flick it
out into a wing at the end.

after awhile though my skin
grows weary and itchy.

i can feel every pound of makeup
that cakes my face.

a single wet wipe no longer
works to dislodge the
uncomfortableness
in my pores.

i bathe in rose-scented oils
and steam my face
ritually.

everything is off.
my flaws are showing.

makeup use to be fun
when i wasn’t wearing it
for other people.

now social media lets me know
that i must contour my cheeks
with a prayer that starts with,
“dear lord,” and ends
with, “amen.”

in order to be in my family’s good
graces i must have faith in
myself but
mustn’t be prideful.

you must not use a mirror to put your makeup on.

your eyebrows should be
arched and ready to
defend,
not yourself,
but “God”
if questioned.

when you find a boy
who says he likes makeup
you must not pursue him.

he is not worthy of your highlighted face.

love yourself but
also put your
makeup first.

sculpt the nose
define the face
overline the lips.

do all that you can
to hide your real face.

make your skin scream
to be let free.

and when you take
your makeup off,
make sure to
moisturize
because your skin
has to look great when
it is drowning in
foundation.

take care of your skin
but it also doesn’t matter
so paint your face once more.

bat your eyes.
pout your lips.

but don’t be lustful.

because your religion is like your makeup...

so cake it on like a fake facade.

hungry eyes
vacant stares
sunday morning
monday dares

tired feet
clumsy legs
silent whimpers
and yet he begs

my hands are covered
in blood that is not mine.
he reaches into my chest
for a heart he can't find.

let him know it's not him.
let him know it's not love.
it's a temporary feeling
that i no longer dream of.