I’m sporting this new lipstick
it won’t fade, smudge or smear I’ll be lucky if it wears off this year. I’ve got this new eyeliner that’s like a luxurious, glittering, penciled tattoo Leong asked, “How do you get it off you?” I unpacked these chemical wonders to see if they’ve lost their luster by being neglected since last summer. When you study too much, you feel pent-up, so my compadres and I chose to get dolled-up, rolling-up to dinner, like beauty queens on parade, and not just sophomore scrubs trying to make the grade.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: compadre: a close friend or buddy
Imagine a box In shadow Of utter regalia Iris, dressed as a waterfall She comes scattered Imagine an eyelid illusionist Praying for more palettes Enters steelbook cathedrals To a ministry of colour For the street outside Cannot offer as Interesting a hue As those fascinating within The pigment of her imagination It's compelling artistry Like oil on canvas A slight of hand Smoke and mirrors Her skilled fingers Kohl mining For soft medley And the new liminality Above the spectator's eye ~
For Mrs. Timetable
the cracks in the mirror
start to show makeup morning clown becomes the show unrecognisable face made up to be someone you know still laughing just not sure at what anymore
She wears no mask
She wears no make up You look into her eyes You get what you see
I knew her before
She coloured her hair. She'd wash and brush, With a simple part down the middle. I remember it falling silently over Her shoulder blades, down her back. It always looked like that, After a full day at the lake. And I knew her before She used cosmetics The way they're used this day. Her cheeks glowed with youth, Her brows arched like shorelines; Lashes balanced droplets Over rushing ruby lips. I knew her to play tennis, To swim, run, To laugh and be fun. I knew her With lights on, At dusk and at dawn. I knew her for long. I knew her so long.
My skin is ageing,
it is my unseen secret – I'm undercover.
Collection "Different times"
This is one interesting day
when my father gifts makeup kits and concealers to my mother To hide the slap marks gifted to her a day ago.
welcome to the hollow cake
buttered by cream frosting its no fun being the rat in wax is it? was the garnish good, at least? we're here only moments and they're being wasted every minute just like all the opportunities that have gone on by there's still plenty game to be had a plentiful lot in play pennies for each of their fads hair changes, and ripped stockings handmade but when the dye fades your mascara runs was it fun?
when the face in the mirror isn't who I want it to be and those thoughts, those ******* disgusting worms crawling out of my brain, to simply drive me insane I think it's subconscious, I never quite think it, before the thought is reaching my hand A little mascara brush through my hair (I want to feel pretty again) A dusting of powder touch up my chapstick (this face THIS FACE ISN'T RIGHT THIS ISN'T THE PERSON I WANT TO BE-) - It's ok to be. - Switch up the perspective: I Will fix my issues, one brush at a time A swipe of lipstick layer eyeshadow Please don't clump, mascara Add some concealer (I NEED TO FIX THE VOICES IN MY HEAD) Some brow gel Some eyeliner. Top it off With a [[I hear voices say, voices far away "say cheese!" click]] I- I'll be O.K.
and hey, you made it this far, smile! :)
no amount of makeup can hide that toxicity
dear every fake *****