un-mask

.
Soap.

She studies the mirror.
Does not like what she sees.
But she likes.
That she can do something about it.

A Scar.
Aftermath of Disease.
Big. Red. Angry.
Desperate, she seeks a Solution.
And lands herself.
A Concealer Jar.

Blemishes. Pores. Freckles.
Disguised.
Magic Powder.

Half Brows.
Disguised.
Pencil and Brush.

Squinty Eyes.
Disguised.
Eyeliner. Eyelash Curler. Three Different Mascaras.

Pallid Pallor.
Disguised.
Rouge. Color. Gloss.

Her Face.
Disguised.
A Mask.

.............................................................................................................

Gel.

They tell her she is beautiful.
She accepts and smiles.
Returns the compliments.
Always something nice to say.

Bodies entwined.
Blissful. Glowing. Gleaming with sweat.
The aftereffects of lovemaking.
He gasps You’re beautiful.
She whispers You’re not so bad yourself.

.............................................................................................................

Foam.

Alone.
Eyes fixed on the mirror.

Unblinking. Stiff. Frozen.
Her Mask is beautiful.

She scrubs her face.
Impatiently. Forcefully. Violently.

Fixed on the mirror again.
Yes, her mask is beautiful.

.............................................................................................................

Oil.

She too, is beautiful.
In an unconventional way.

Her Face.
Big. Round. Fleshy.
The propensity to enjoy life.

Her Nose.
Long. Straight. Far too Big.
Righteousness. Integrity. Pride.
An irony. She’s far from proud of it.

Her Smile.
Lopsided.
Contorted with laughter.
Warped like her sense of humour.

Her Eyes.
Small.
Twinkle with intelligence.
Flicker with compassion.
Radiate her heritage.
Slant almonds of an ancient kingdom.

She is beautiful.
If one knows where to look.

.............................................................................................................

Scrub.

She sits at her dresser.
The start of her daily routine.

She beholds her tools.
Her loyal, dependable tools.
Her best friends.

Then glares at her face.
An Enemy. An Alterego.
To Hide. Disguise. Mask.

She laughs.
Angrily. Furiously. Passionately.
Tears streaming down her face.
She's got it all wrong.

All that time.
All that energy,
All that money.

To mask her flaws.
But mar her beauty.

She snatches the Concealer Jar.
And smudges under her Eyes.
She grabs the Pencil.
And doodles her Brows.
She nabs the Mascara.
And plasters her Lashes.
Only one coat today.

Her Blemishes, Pores, Freckles clamor for attention.
She considers the Powder. Struggles. Nearly gives in.
Her skin is hideous. But hers. All hers.
She looks away.

Her Eyes implore a boost.
She considers the Eyeliner.
Her eyes are small. Her lashes are sparse. But Hers.

Her Cheeks bellow for aid.
She considers the Rouge.
Her face is pale. But hers.

Her Lips bawl for relief.
She considers the Gloss.
Her lips are dry. But hers.

One by one.
Her hand raises a tool.
Then puts it down.

Finally, her gaze come to rest at her Scar.
Now Smaller. Smoother. Creamier.
No more the angry pustule she feared.
Nor the stony scab she loathed.
Funny. She hasn’t noticed in a while.
She’s stopped covering it in years.
The Scar that started it all.

Finished.
She appraises her work.
And is swept away with excitement.
She has never looked more beautiful.

Finally ready.
To begin a new Dawn. A new Day. A new Chapter.
To face the world. Not Mask it.
She will not need the Mask today. Maybe not ever.

As she shuts the door behind her...
She sings, her voice Light, Spirited, Free.

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.
Love me because I’m not.
.