Make up

I put on my clothes for the day while thinking of my next performance. Dressing up, dressing down, telling my story, showing where I’ve been, how I think and; and what I like. If I’m going to feel this way, or that, I’ll need some war paint. The story is made up, so when you text me, the letters melt in my eyes and run like mascara. Meanwhile I listen to an album you created. With some songs you recommended couple with thoughts of your head bopping along. That musical voice, hidden away. My empty surface, all made up. Ornaments. Decoration. Piercings and laughter ringing in my ears. No, not ringing – warming me. Fanning the flame of my heart. Turning on the light inside. Candles craving us with their orange light. Shining eyes meet, and my mouth is stilled, half smiling through a mask, that isn’t made up.


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