BEAUTY FILLED. The mirror says I look like a mess. Ofcourse I do, Mascarra running down my cheeks, Wine and cigarette ash all over my dress. The pins holding my hair up are lodged in too tight. Lipstick smeared on my lips a shade of neon too bright. Who am I if not the pretty damsel seated here? Who am I if not the pretty damsel drunk on fear? They are out there, Laughing way too loud, Pretending to love each other, And im disgusted by the sound. Rich kids with nothing but loose ends. Rich kids with nothing but fake friends. I ignored the fact that they were kiddie pool shallow, Behind each others backs they lusted after who the other was with, Like their bodies were something to borrow. I snapped back to reality when the one soon too be married slid his hand up my thigh, Then drew it back claiming to be Way too high Now here I am in the bathroom of a posh restaurant. One too many slimming diets later. And I think to myself, If pretty hurts I must be in the worst kind of pain. Im slimmer, lighter, and these heels make me taller. But I know this is stupid. If Im only dressing up so the man I attract can dress me down, THEN WHY AM I DOING IT? Taking the razor from my purse, I slice away at the locks hanging off my head, When my friends find out, Im so dead. But its okay cause right now I feel so alive. No time for a salad, KFC here i come! Handing my heels to the waiter I give her a high five. I dont look at them as I walk past their table of stupidity. Push open the doors and step out into the evening air. Push my shoulders back, Hold my head up and breathe in like the pain in my chest is barely there. I skip away barefoot and beautiful. Barefoot and beauty filled.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 20:18:36 +0000
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