Every morning
I paint on my mask –
The liquid skin I apply evenly over
My imperfect complexion
And the black wingtips so that
My eyelashes flutter further
And the peachy brushstrokes to my cheekbones
Like a bruise on either side
And the bitten blood-red matte lips that contrast
With my now-flawless paleness –
The person staring back at me through the mirror
Smiles
As though she is content
To be
Just another pretty face
But underneath the makeup
She is hoping, dreaming, wishing
That one day
Somebody will care enough to
See beneath the surface.