By MommyRachelle on August 22, 2014
Shiny, it stands affixed before me Staring in silence, watching the house I draw closer, my image mimics My reflection is weary, is tired Lines feather out from drooping eyes In corners, crooked path awaiting tears Speckles of injury dot high cheeks Chins hug one another, seek attention Hair frizzies edge a creased forehead I inhale, nostrils flaring with intake This is me. This is me. Fingers fumble to draws, pull handles The familiar shuffle of compacts sounds Colors beckon me to choose them The foundation of today’s cover up What mask shall I wear today? . . .
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