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ro g Aug 27
You see a mask,
Assume it false.
I fake being sad,
I fake the tears staining my cheeks.
In a world being consumed by flames,
My wide mouth devoid of words
Dares to steal attention
From the more pressing matters
Because I believe I matter more.

The plastic hides a face,
A face that "is faking being sad,"
A face that "just wants attention."

Now, now, aren’t you confused,
Because you gave that face everything it needs
And everything it could ever want.
Maybe money can buy love,
but it also buys plastic.

Now this---
Is no mask.
It's my skin.
Shiny, fake, and hard.
It’s not covered in plastic;
It has become plastic.
Inspired by the Cover Art of Burning by Ocean Vuong
Jennifer McCurry Aug 2020
It was White

  A white ...    A white ...    I’m dreaming of a curtain of snow
  
                                                         falling from her shoulders.
  
Snow crackling against the window. Snow shredded
  
                                           with gunfire. Red sky.
  
Ocean Vuong
Aubade with Burning City  
  
      There lay war.    Tyranny’s serial  
Killer... heat abroad  
  
The moon was white  
                        Degrees of yellow
  
    White lines laced with bliss ... much ado without implication
  
He ate the meat as if
  
A canine without teeth ... and she  
            
              tossed her smile carelessly  
  
She held a sparrow in the palm of her gentle  
  
               White... and trembling hand...  
  
   White and trembling
  
  
She ate a plum and let the juices run...
  
           Ran down her chin upturned ...  
run down it  
And dripped red juices to the floor....  
  
Let it drip                and he lapped like a dog  
  
As on airways nostalgia comforted  
         On all fours he licked red drops  
  
And once over  
Melancholic  
  
            He would forever be.  
  
Reduced to that taste....  
         orgasmically  
                     And in torture....  
his mind in torture
  
  
  
Wind whips the sparrow lost...  
she mourns her seat  
                                       Of an un gloved  
  
Pearl white hand
  
  
Un gloved and so delicate there....  
  
The morning makes it hard to build a nest
Inspired by
Ocean Vuong
Aubade with Burning City

— The End —