After the makeup—
The thick layers you insist on painting—
After the jewels
And the fashionable clothes
As well as your glossy hair,
After all that’s off
You know what’s left?

What’s left isn’t the pimples,
The dark circles
The limpness of your hair
The unkept, unruly appearance you hide.
What’s left is a perfect image
An image that means true beauty
I can see the clearness
The fragileness
The humaneness that is you
All I see is someone
That I don’t need to chase
And that I don’t need to glorify
Under false pretenses


y.k.