Aerial Musing

As A adolescent
I cherished
observing my mother  
administer her cosmetics..


Doing it so carefully

and

fervent

as though

she were painting

upon a canvas.


She'd assemble her  
lengthy apricot  hair  
within a towel,
situate herself  
in front of the  
wooden vanity  
in my bedroom..

plug the  
curling iron in

and

set out  
all her items  
like an artist  
preparing brushes..





Applying each  
to her face  
in a certain order.



I'd sit on the bed  
admiring her  
from within the mirror.



foundation,

powder
 
mascara

never lipstick  

(because,
she would say
It makes
beautiful women  
look like trash)


She'd line her bewitching green eyes in ebony,  
pull the towel from her head..

Shaking the beautiful  
apricot locks out so they'd  
flow gently down her back,
and begin the process  
of curling it.



When she was done
she would sit down behind me  
brush my golden brown hair
than create a French braid..


If I was lucky
I'd have my tiny
fingernails painted
the softest shade of pink

which was always  
my favorite part..





We matriculate
at such a fragile age
the art of masking
covering up
and hiding ..

admiring woman
 
with
tiny waists
long flowing hair
and  
pouty cherry stained lips..

always being told  
how beautiful we are

but  


never quite  
accepting that  
as truth...




Being read stories  
about ravishing princesses
in distress

and

the charming prince
who rides upon
his snowy horse
to save her..




Love so beautiful
portrayed upon
TV screens ..

so heartfelt


that we dream of the day
we to will be beautiful..

whisked away
adorned in white

given a
magical kiss that will

set us free...
set us apart..





Some of us  
go from prince to
prince,

and

never find that
magic..



Emerald lined eyes streak  
tar stains
down porcelain cheeks..

tousled hair..

and

smeared lipstick




we take our
slippers off
at the end of
the night,

and

curl up in bed
used and abused..

knowing its a
never ending cycle..


just waiting
for the next one
to come
and
whisper sweet lies


so

we can once again
mask ourselves...


and
for a few fleeting moments



feel special again...