make-up

this is a rough draft of one of my newest poems.

She paints her eyes so
The real her is not seen.
She colors her face
To complete her screen.

Her lips are stained red,
For all the blood she has lost.
Sometimes, vanity
Comes at a high cost.

Her nails painted black,
For the hatred in her heart.
Her porcelain face white
In hope of a new start.

She glares in the mirror,
Hating who she is.
She no longer feels like
A child of His.

She can’t allow
Her façade to tumble.
If she did,
All her hope would crumble.

Nothing left,
But the makeup from her cheek.
Nothing left, besides a girl,
Helpless, powerless, and weak.