"maybelline" poems
Milyun-milyong mga blankong mukha,
pipintahan,
papahiran ng pintora
ang iba’t ibang kastilyo ng pangarap.
Subalit sa paglipas ng panahon
ang mga kastilyong ito’y rurupok,
at sa isang ihip ng hangin
ay pwede ‘tong gibain.
Masasanay kang matalo,
para sa atin ‘tong mundo.
Para sa atin,
hindi para sa kanila,
kailanman hindi ‘to masasakop
ng mga mapapait na luha.
Nasanay ka na sa panonood
ng mga teleserye o pelikulang
kung ano ang theme song
ay ‘yon din ang pamagat.
Nasanay ka nang mag-abang
sa paiba-ibang kulay na buhok
ni Vice Ganda, o ni Yeng Constantino,
ang umasa rin sa paiba-ibang desisyon
ng mga tao sa paligid mo.
Nasanay ka nang magmahal ang gasolina,
at iba pang mga bilihin
ngunit hindi ang magmahal ng totoo,
dahil takot kang masaktan ulit,
ang iwanan, o umasa ulit,
sa isang relasyong pang-post lang
sa FB, IG o Twitter,
‘yong pang-“#relationshipgoals” lang,
nasanay ka na pero takot ka pa rin.
Nasanay ka na sa mga surprise quiz.
Sa exams. Sa reporting. Sa thesis.
Sa Singko, INC, Withdraw o Drop.
Sa pag-jaywalking,
dahil late na naman sa 7:30 AM class.
Sa paulit-ulit na sorry.
Sa paulit-ulit ding pagpapatawad.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-red string.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-forever.
Sa mabagal na internet.
Sa job interview. Sa gobyerno.
Masasanay ka ring matalo
dahil ganito ang konsepto ng mundo.
Patitikman ka muna ng pagkabigo,
bago ka ulit maging buo.
Baka rin bukas-makalawa
maiisipan mo nang mag-aral ng mabuti
at iwasang ang usapang mabote,
ang bumangon ng maaga
at hindi papatayin ang naka-set na alarm,
ang maging totoo
sa taong nagmamahal sa ‘yo,
o kaya subukang ipa-Photoshop
ang 2x2 picture mo sa resume
para sa paparating na job interview.
Masasanay ka ring matalo,
masasanay ka rin sa mga peklat mo sa puso.
Dahil hindi ito matatapalan
ng pulga-pulgadang concealer ng Maybelline,
o kahit ubusin mo pa
ang stock sa AVON, sa Watson, sa HBC, o sa Lazada.
Kaya tanggapin mo na lang
na ang buhay ay puno ng pagkatalo,
dahil sa huli para sa atin din naman ang mundo,
kaya wala kang dahilan para sumuko,
dahil ang sumusuko lang ang natatalo,
at ang hindi takot sumubok ulit
ang tunay na panalo.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
When you smile
Your teeth tell a story
Of never ending words
And endless punctuation.
When you smile,
I can smell your breath
Wreaking of every stale cigarette
And every stale memory
That has ever polluted your tongue
And that you continue to relive
And that stain every word
That you let spill
Recklessly
From what you call a mouth.
Every time you flash that
Maybelline painted smile
I pity what you were born with
Every time you smile,
I cant help but feel smug
My smile doesn’t stain my words
Betraying my secrets
My displayed sense of happiness is neither false
Nor does it stretch on forever
Like some bad Friday night
With a bad date
In a bad place
That you call “fun”.
My smile in not tainted
By a lifestyle the breeds regret
With all it’s unprotected endeavors.
But somehow
With all your flaws
Your inability to make a
Self preserving decision
You still remain victorious.
Over my honest to goodness
Absolute genuine attempts
At legitimacy.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:33 AM UTC
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé
It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.
In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.
Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”
That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.
Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
Jun 6, 2023
Jun 6, 2023 at 10:51 PM UTC
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t skinny enough
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t pretty enough
This is for all the guys
Who think they have to act a little more “tough”,
As if mere kindness isn’t enough.
This, my friends, is for you.
Our society today
Has painted its own little picture
Of how we should look
So that guy’ll wanna “get wit cha”
Of how to live and how to dream
Of what to do and who to be
Today it seems the only way to be “cool”
Is to smoke a little and drink a few
To stay out until all hours of the night
Partying, getting higher than a kite
See, what gets me confused is this
The things we are told are right
Are much different than what we see on TV
If there is one thing I hate more than lying,
It’s hypocrisy.
We are told to exercise
To get fit, and eat right
Then what do we see?
Models throwing up at night
Scared
Because the pressure is too much
To eat is too pricy
So food, they don’t touch.
What is a model?
Someone or something used as an example
I don’t know about you, but
When I shop, I grab up ALL the samples
Starving isn’t realistic
Nor is it “right”
Regardless of your pant size,
Regardless of your height.
We are told that beauty is only skin deep
That what really matters is all underneath
I have yet to see one person at the VMAs
With less than 5 makeup products on their face
Why is that?
There’s a simple Answer.
Thanks to Maybelline and L’Oreal
It costs 6 dollars for a beauty enhancer.
Girls talk all the time
About how there are no good guys out there.
I hate to burst your bubble
But saying that isn’t fair
There are plenty of guys
Who are respectful and kind
But you push them away
Without a care in your mind
You want one thing
Then it changes to another
Because movies make you think
You don’t have to really care for one another
They show relationships as prideful,
Full of lust and lies
So when it comes to the real world,
Kind guys are despised.
So they mask their emotions with
Hardness and Vulgarity
Showing love on occasional,
Rarely, and sparingly.
See According to society,
Men have to be “tough”
Or else they are judged and pushed aside
Left waiting for the one to call their bluff.
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t skinny enough
This is for all the girls
Who think they aren’t pretty enough
This is for all the guys
Who think they have to act a little more “tough”,
You’re beautiful, you are loved.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you
You aren’t enough.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
I like to do those quizzes
in glossy bubbles that you
find
in Cosmopolitan and
Elle and
Seventeen.
Which girl should I be?
Should I
dump paper flowers
on my milkmaid braid?
Long skirts, long chains, and
Beatles on my radio
during their ‘Indian’ phase?
Should I
paint it all
black, strip life down to
a middle finger,
blare punk at full
scream,
and cram my toes in ratty Docs,
smash all emotion
into smithereens?
Should I
sugar-coat my mouth with
Maybelline, button up
collars, laughs, opinions,
read books on behaving
just like a
daydream,
sip teas, bake cookies, aim for
Ivy Leagues?
Which gilded box do I crawl
into?
Which skin to don
this week?
Which fashion editor-friendly
stereotype to fulfil?
Which girl should I be?
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
"You're gonna die ******* laugh" ~ Hasan Minhaj Homecoming King
Laugh you ******
At least this is what I think when I'm trying to get someone to laugh
We all die its gonna happen
Whether you die today or die tomorrow
LAUGH
Don't force it either it has been proven that forcing laughter
Is actually unhealthy for you
I'm not really sure how it works If it stacks up or not
LAUGH
Maybe I'd just have to find out but I also remember
That I've been twisting and pinning my laughter up at the edges
I've been orchestrating the downfall of my vocal chords for so long
LAUGH
There is not a more convincing sound in the world but my laugh
Two things woven together seamlessly
False and true have blended into a new vocal sound for maybe
Maybe its Maybelline
Maybe its sadness and happiness
Twirling each other around on the dance floor
LAUGH
Just laugh today alright?
Take a breath for just a second
And try to remember the warmth of being content and ok
Or if you're eating french fries
Take two and tuck them under your upper lip
Go look in the mirror cause now you're a walrus
And remember.
You're gonna ******* die and time runs through your laughs
So laugh while you still can
And not giggling from your grave cause no one can hear you
LAUGH
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
Hey pink.. come back to me..
Powder my cheeks with your hue..
Polish my nails with a shade of yours..
Put some maybelline punch on my lips
Add some dazzle to my tulle gown..
Blush a little on my sandals..
Because I might bump in to him today...
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 3:12 PM UTC
She used to trace her eyes with a path of black
I assumed it was to grab attention
She would perfectly fill in her acne scars’ gaps
Maybe it was to be the best addition
Barbie dolls, and Maybelline models
would make her feel inferior
but between the shadows, glosses and makeup bottles
She’s forgotten her natural exterior
The beauty flows, and young age glows
No filter is needed
Hashtag “woe” nobody knows
but she feels less conceited
Caked on lies attracted some guys
and made her act a certain way
she has those perfect laugh lines around her eyes
that will make anybody’s day naturally okay
perfect imperfections, aren’t meant to be hidden
makeup’s deceptions, needs to be permanently forbidden
She was born with a face that describes her
Flawless, nothing can replace what is her
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
She smiles like a Cheshire Cat,
And it makes me laugh to think of how she sways her hips, walking away while looking back, like a professional acrobat.
"Live with me! I'll cook for you!"
The cologne
of her ex
on her skin,
as she coos
into my ear,
"Oops,
dropped my phone."
She bends her neck to let me see her *******
(which jiggle as she giggles at a joke I never said)
I don't trust her. Not at all.
But I'm flattered by her clear attempt to sell me in the mall.
Maybe it's Maybelline,
Maybe it's methamphetamine
(Or the bruises on her arm)
Or her pupils stretched with a line,
Of black paint past her felonies,
Past the "no trespassing" sign.
Past her oceanic iris,
Curving to her brow,
Like a coy, reserved, egyptian lynx,
Poised while on the prowl.
Maybe it's her melancholy glance,
Sent off towards some memory,
Of a redwood where she kissed-
How she looks away when she sits,
To my left,
her eyes, motioning
to some tempting offscreen thing...
I don't know what drug she worships,
But it's got her shivering.
"I love you like I love rock music
(But keep your clothes on)
I love you like I love the Steinhart aquarium,
(But keep your clothes on),
I love you like I love the cinema,
(But thanks for the compliment)"
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:37 AM UTC
Am I conceded if I suddenly love myself?
Am I conceded if think I'm beautiful?
Because I do.
I think I'm smart and witty and
so ******* wise.
I'm even starting to like my hair.
Does that make me conceded?
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Why are we so
Obsessed,
with the liquid paint
that we slather on our
faces-
morning after morning?
We stroll the isles of
Fifty shades of Nudes
to find the shade
that makes us look like
Painted glass
Porcelain dolls,
and Fake.
Why?
Why are we so obsessed with
Maybelline and
Covergirl and
Elf?
The brands that contour
our faces
and create an illusion
a canvas
Over-painted by
Overpriced
Chemicals.
Beauty costs
Money.
Youth.
Clear skin.
But it brings this sense of
false hope that
maybe-
we can accept ourselves
after we put on this paint
and call it beauty.
We see Photoshop,
the blurred lines,
the perfect wing,
and the rosy shade of blush
that seems perfectly
Fake.
Too perfect to be real
Too perfect to be real.
And yet we strive,
for this unattainable beauty.
The **** we see on
Facebook
YouTube
Instagram
drives us crazy
because no matter how hard we try
no matter how much we waste
we can’t seem to get that
contour right
and that wing sharp
and that mascara clump-less
and that lipstick perfect.
And even though
we cannot seem to get it right,
we buy
we strive
to be the perfect shade of perfection.
Because we’re obsessed.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
the magnified, mascara applied
eyes of my skull
burn holes in my thighs
mulling over the size of this hull
i chunder my lunch and wonder of
everyone else
and if they're also laser beaming love
into themselves
or if they're boundlessly born with it
unstained smiles, strained bites
maybe they're just born with it
no pained bile or insatiable appetites
either way, i hardly
can infer
if my stomach is
half empty
or half full
Sep 9, 2024
Sep 9, 2024 at 11:08 PM UTC
Girl No. 1 wears her jeans cuffed and hates everyone but the Jets. Her voice is honey-thick around biting words. Smiling does not come easy to her. She wears her face like a mask—big glasses, big eyes, big quiet. When I see her, she lifts her hand in a grim wave, delta creases in her brown palm. Her excuse for her silence is that she’s boring, but she’s not. She dots her eyes with tiny stars and listens to German orchestra whenever she can. She thinks she has buried herself well, but bits of her still protrude from the topsoil, aching to be known.
Girl No. 2 is grey flannel and deliberate sentences. Her hair covers her face, yet when she speaks about trees and animals and the hole torn in our atmosphere by ultraviolet, ultraviolent rays, she is thunder. I gave her lotion for her cracked hands one time. When we smiled at each other after, we knew at once we were part of the same club. Girl No. 2 never corrects people when they forget her name. They say Kaitlyn, Kaleigh, Katie…let the word drop as if it were no more important than a used napkin. I hate it. I pick her used napkin name from the floor and smooth it over my lap. I say it right and she replies, with perfect seriousness, thank you: Thank you for the correct pronunciation of my identity.
Girl No. 3 is a hard one. Look at her once and you’ll see Maybelline lashes and a glass-cutting face. Look twice and you’ll see more. The sag of her shoulders, the stinging weariness of posturing for people far beneath her. I startle her. I’m too inquisitive for her taste. She does not want the world knowing her mother drank three liters of ***** before driving off a bridge, that her favorite color is celery green, or that anorexia and anxiety stalked her through the halls of high school like a pair of vultures. She wants to stay in her castle of ice, but it has imprisoned her. You poet, she teases me. You right-brained heap of color and sensitivity. You’re too much. I don’t know what to do with you. I ask her who she is and she recites her answer. 130, 125, 2315. But this girl is more than her IQ, her weight, or her SAT score, and when I tell her so, her Maybelline lashes are ruined.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
Light shades,
Dark shades,
What am i to wear?
Lipstick, mascara,
Base and nail polish,
Mom in the back ground says, ' You're going to college.'
**** !
I need a new bag,
Also a liner by Mac.
Maybelline polishes,
All stacked,
So many colours,
But not black.
I need to apply Revlon,
As much as i can put on,
Making my lashes prominant.
5th Avenue, Still and Elizebeth Arden,
I want to wear them all,
' Oh no, i don't ' says my conscience,
But then again they're scents and my heart wants them.
Unzipping my wallet,
' No ', i have not much.
Making the puppy dog face,
' Mom ! Can i get money to buy a base ? '
She nodded.
' Also i want perfume, liner, mascara and a nail polish. '
She gives me a look.
' Go get your money and spend them on it.'
But i have no money,
I say,
She says,' Get a job and buy all of it.'
Like a baby i sob.
She ignores,
Looking all bored,
So she knows,
I'm acting emotional then why not scold
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
Bile in my throat
at the thought of you with another set of hands,
another pair of lips,
Deserved acid rising.
Face like tar baby, maybelline smeared
a black film to each eye.
Scald my case of a body with shower spray,
I remember when your torso pressed against mine
as water spilled down our misshapen noses.
I forget what your lower lip feels like
to be pressed between mine.
Forget what sound stumbled out when teeth left marks
when crescent moons kissed your clavicle
and freckles became a map of my sky.
We never kissed behind any vending machines,
but every moment felt preciously stolen nonetheless.
Too perfect to be ours for long,
we desperately traded in bits of our adolescent hearts
in the lottery of fools.
Doled out vulnerability
in the hopes that
maybe the happiness
would stay
just
a bit
longer.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
The screws are tightening round my skull
In the same place where all the voices come from
Though this is no accident, no health misfortune
By now, yes, I’ve begged for it, begged for it to come
You call yourself a killer, well then finish the job
You call yourself a thrill, but the ones from me are all you’ve got
This terra is not my pill, when all kind monsters are forgot
As the real terror slaps on Maybelline, straps on a guitar
Somewhere in Xayide’s lair lies my memories
Packed like spheres of glass in a gumball machine
Someday I’ll return to sepia and monochrome
As another Dorothy clicks her heels…
(Going anyplace but home)
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
I’m ******* freezing.
I’ve been sitting here across from a parking lot
in a little patch of green, and the sprinklers
keep going on and off, but I sit here—
watch the droplets slide down my black leather boots,
shifting my legs in my soaked denim shorts,
picking at the soggy bread of my dollar menu sandwich.
I didn’t win the peel off sticker contest on the wrapping,
and I also missed the trashcan when I threw it out,
like you threw me out
and it’s not like I saw it coming. Considering our cat
is still at the vet and we just found a new couch,
but I guess my bag of clothes and one pair of clean underwear
are my only companions now as I wait
for some sort of direction or weird, metaphor
to slink down from the Maybelline billboard,
crawl up my skin and into my mind so I’m not just
sitting here, freezing.
But I guess it’s not as cold as that one time
you slid half a Klondike bar down my back
as I sat circling help-wanted ads in the paper.
I screamed, but you covered my mouth and kissed
the space behind my ears a million little time.
I licked your hand and you wiped it on my shoulder,
turning
back to the stove to stir the Campbell’s soup we found
behind the expired olives in the cupboard. Yet, I always thought
that I was your sliver of a masterpiece.
It’s not everyday that someone calls a girl beautiful
when she’s got bags the size of small countries
under her eyes or a flannel with five missing buttons.
But the way you held my collarbone in your hands,
or carried my sculptures to the shows, or bent
your life a little differently just to fit my mold.
I guess our love just grew old
to you, but I never thought that a parking lot,
after hours of drizzle and haze
rising from the blacktop, would look better
than the canopy we made from old t-shirts
that hung above our bed with a mobile
of everything I ever made up in my head
that you could be.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Look at how I've controlled your little mind
I find humor in when you think that without me you won’t please yours or any other eye
I can manipulate you into believing that in my absence that word pretty you will never define
Chanel, L’Oreal, Maybelline
what else of me have you prioritized
of what I offer, you own a collection so wide
from your dresser
to your pocket
or in that bag you carry by your side
contouring so you can attain that distinct jaw line
or black winged liner to change the shape of your eye
why haven't you realized?
that you're gradually making me a necessity in your lives
though
of this you have no clue
due to your false judgment which has convinced you to assume
that your flaws should be hidden because they don’t make you, you
The richness of the colors I offer
will keep you satisfied
The cherry red on your lips that feels every breath
you take in
one smudge and you’re ready to reapply
why
do you act as if nature has done some sort of crime?
Let face it if there’s anyone who should be fined
it is I
for deluding you to ignore the innocence of your face
whose beauty you've chose not to embrace
and have resorted to me as your only escape
leaving with what’s beneath to suffocate
making you confident
like fulfilling some need
only for a period of time
I succeed
so on me don’t be too dependent
for I’m just a temporary lie
step outside
keeping in mind
that true beauty radiates from what’s inside
don't take to heart on what they criticize
do not get used to me
because dear
I do not define
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
I am a plastic bag.
I am not just a late autumn leaf swept up by fall winds and you are not just a figment of my imagination.
I was used to the best of my abilities and tossed out the window replaced by another nylon pouch with a zipper you are confident in undoing.
Your veins make up the dreamcatcher I keep on my bedside table to collect the memories I was once so fond of.
I kept your secrets, your trust, lies, casualaties and love tight on my embrace until I could not hold any longer.
I am a plastic bag.
I float on winds of whispers from city to city, each more excruciating than the last, trying to find my way back to you
Where you are a polaroid taken again, modeling the perfect pose to take the girl of your choice home for the night.
A girl that will place cosmetics, such as the red lipstick she'll kiss upon your face, and the Maybelline eyeliner that'll smudge on your pillow case in the morning in a purse made from the finest cows.
I am a plastic bag
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
on a night time beach
jamaican dreads share a chalice
this white guy bongs out
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
The stench of broken promises linger in the bottom of empty shot glasses
High heels strewn across the floor, I have become small again.
Black makeup running down my face like a runner in last place,
Temporary maturity bought for seven dollars in a Maybelline bottle.
If only the company we kept were as silent as the stars,
a mistake would dissolve like alka seltzer in the room temperature water
That I can’t stop chugging.
Alcohol depriving me of life essentials like, h2o and the will to live.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
All my clothes are oil stained.
Paint soiled, diesel fumed.
Eager to get a job done
I forget to care what I'm
Wearing.
*At least she allows herself
Quality make-up,*
I think; rubbing absent-mindedly
At mascara stains on my
Shoulder.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
She intertwined her thick fingers
behind both shelves of the medicine
cabinet and embraced them clamorously
into the sink.
I.
Maybelline, Rimmel, and Revlon
now spotted with flakes of dried toothpaste
and ****** hair.
Just.
Her hands dove wrist deep into the pool
of glamor and acceptance before her
and emerged with scarlet lipstick.
Want.
She uncapped and carefully ran it across
her stiffened lips, accidentally coloring
her skin and the corners of her open mouth.
To.
She mashed a makeup brush into a jar
of powdered blush and swept it over
her cheekbones like a blood red sunset
overtaking a mountain.
Be.
With black tears running down her face
and staining her white shirt,
she reapplied her mascara.
Beautiful.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
our suns were the fluorescent lightbulbs that lined those ceilings in little rows
clouds known as ceiling tiles
and days passed under that sun
we grew up and we grew up fast
the girls told secrets by the lockers
the desks
the water fountains
and the boys left marks on Susie’s neck that we could all see
despite her mother’s Maybelline
and Tom started smoking Marlboros
so I smoked them too
and that night on the rooftop near Main
you told me I had talisman eyes
and we made choices we could never take back
and thats okay
and that hurts
and we all hurt
k.s.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC