I have five thousand lipsticks in my closet.
Brands from lands I didn’t know existed. Continue reading
“You go on ahead. I’ll just throw this out,” he nodded, his mouth twisting into a half-smile of pursed lips and sunken eyes. As she left, he watched the bell above the door ring once, twice, three times, announcing her departure. She won’t be calling him back. Their corner table had been slightly uncomfortable, but it served its purpose. Five coffees were made behind the counter; the timer going off at one-minute intervals. Continue reading
There has been an emptiness in my heart,
where one resides like a hotel suite.
It is so strange that now you are gone.*
I stand taller
with plum lipstick
on my lips.
I wear my feminine as armor.
Stand in front of the armoire
and paint my face like a soldier
off to war. Continue reading
What is it in that bold rouge, that delicate rose, that electric blue
that makes people wear it on their lips –
their connection to the world, the deliverance of their words,
their vocal identity?
Let me start again. Continue reading
In my balcony
Overlooking the haunted boulevard
I picnic my eyes
Into your curtain-less window
To watch you try on different wigs Continue reading
Get dressed and breathe
Blush on Continue reading
My tongue stiffens
Plagued with numbness and dryness
forehead flooded with prickling, glistening sweat,
blood rushing to my face,
threatening to expose me. Continue reading
He’d drive to work every morning,
wearing his crisp-white dishdasha,
after combing his wild hair into a presentable manner,
kissing his perfectly-pious wife, Continue reading
I slowly get ready, putting on my other face. I cover up my flaws and bring out a fierceness and strength I don’t necessarily have. I am lost to the ritual, to the beat of drums only I can hear. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Creams, powders, pencils, gels. Because I’m saving the best for last. Continue reading
Questioning love, fragile and insecure, she lit her cigarette and inhaled. She could feel the confidence ooze from her inhaled breath into every ounce of her body—missing only her skin. The cigarette made her feel good for a brief moment in time, but in the long run? No, in the long run she was unhappy. Continue reading