Colours are scattered everywhere.

Buzzing and smoke fill the space,

To voluntarily mix

With ‘ahhs’ and ‘oohs’ of people amazed

When the mirrors suddenly disclose their reflections.

The sound of music is barely recognised

Because of the husky laughs and the ***** swears.

Everyone is called ‘beauty’ and ‘lovely’

And each one feels awesome and a homecoming queen or king.

All types of people no matter who

Go to the beauty salon hiding their old self

Inside their ribs and chunky hips.

But they go out to partly show it off

No matter if it is casually spilled

Through the hair locks or the pouty lips.

The beauty therapy is the treasure trove

That makes the shaky brim

with that type of confidence

That first roots itself here within

And whenever it is ready

It bravely discloses itself to the outside world.



At the end of the day,

The salon’s assistant removes that forced smile

And swallows the last words of praise

While counting the tips that have been harvested

After a long day of hectic work and headache.