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Writer's pictureDanielle Pryor

The Outside World Only Sees My Painted Face

Updated: Jul 16, 2018



I put on my face this morning;

It came from a can.

I spray it right on my pale, winter skin

Dotted with acne scars and raised bumps of red flesh.

The color comes out,

Like a can of spray paint- I begin to graffiti my face.

The discoloration and bumps begin to dissolve into

the new mask I am painting on.

This is the face that the outside world knows:

the one I am unafraid to show in the light of day.

I remember the first shower I took with my love.

I was so ashamed

as I watched my face mix with the water

And run down the drain.

Once my skin can breathe again though,

I must take a colored pencil to my eyebrows;

they are oddly shaped and the wrong color for my

unnaturally dark hair.

My eyebrows are colored to mold into just the right shape,

just how I was told they’re supposed to be.

But, my eyelashes are too short…

I curl them aggressively, scalding them between

Two pieces of hot metal, forcing each one upright

To give off the façade of being long and thick, like the women on the screen.

They must hate me for this perpetual torture.

I brush dark dust on my eyelids and thickly line my eyes

With a heavy, black pen.

The line has gotten darker and thicker over the years,

now enveloping my entire eye and venturing off

its natural course, testing the boundaries of how far it can go;

Forming a wing on each eye, ready to take flight.

My love once told me:

the eyes are the window to the soul.

You know if someone is crazy

By looking into their eyes.

Maybe I’m trying to hide mine-

Disguise them into something other than myself.

Perhaps the artwork I over-do around my eyes every day

makes me feel protected.

The mask

I paint, color, and spray on

Every morning is the gatekeeper to my soul.

Only when I scrub it off each night can I embrace

The Paleness, Blotchy Acne Scars, Uneven Eyebrows, and Grey Eyes

for what they truly are.

Now, even though I realize how silly and monotonous,

consumer driven and superficial

my morning routine seems,

I can only sit here and think about my

Unpolished Nails, Love Handles, and Faded Hair.

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