Watching your mom put on make up,
Covering her pale checks with rose,
Outlining her eyes, fierce and black and sad.
She looks beautiful,
All made up under the guise of what she needs people to see.
And you want to practice,
Be more like her,
Apply the right shade to cover up,
All dolled up in a pretty lie,
The ones daddy likes.
You’re in high school
Momma has shown you the ways,
Laughed and painted your nails,
Traced your cheeks until the lines highlighted your face,
Covered the scars you didn’t need them seeing.
It’s all perfect,
Subtle yet empowering,
The type to make them stop and stare.Blowing kisses with red lips and pretty eyes,
Telling them the lies they need to believe.
You remember thanking your mom,
For all the practice and skill she gave,
Even though you wish it never prepared you for a love like this,
Learned the ways of love and the world,The ones make up tells you anyway,
And you cover up,
The hurt, the need, the cry,
Because pretty girls are never to be exposed.
Hidden under the guise you need people to see.
Make this and make that,
The world caves easily to those who paint it.
And you wish you didn’t need the shield of black eyes and red lips,
But that is all you know,
The only thing that covers you from the world,
So you tell yourself the lies you need to hear,
And cover the black until it fades to blue, yellow, green,
Until it doesn’t exist, and there won’t be anything left to cover up.