When the urge consumes me,
I will wear the lipstick.
Though my body finds it distasteful,
Rejects it completely and painfully,
I will spread it thinly upon my lips,
Just like I used to do when I was younger.
When I once had more reason.
The hope that someone might kiss me,
And I leave a mark visible to the eye,
Jumpstarts my heart.
The claim to beauty is not within meâ
I am the farm animal dressing up in white,
Wearing the lipstick.
And I pay the price, of course,
A physical and mental tax,
Bloody and demeaning when I see the mirror.
There she is,
Smiling red and pink for only seconds.
One, two, and three.
Then it is smeared from my lips,
To be seen by no one but myself.
What a trivial thought:
I will never leave a stained kiss again.
E.