It started with concealer,

my very own.

My coveted prize of 11 years:

No more sneaking to my mother’s room,

using one two shades too dark.

I was too young to be that excited-

impatient to cover up.

Without tools, my fingers spread it all over

And left stains on the bathroom sink.

They convinced me.

The dire necessity to be

“glowing,” “blushing,” “bronzed”

Makeup to hide was a single facet

of the ever-flowing fountain of beauty

Blush and bronzer, I told myself,

Was not to “cover, but to enhance”

I should’ve stopped there

They didn’t wash off the sink easy

It was all so clear now

I still didn’t look normal

The normal I always saw

“My lashes are the issue”

That’s it

Mascara- jet black

Throw in some eyeliner

as an added necessity

Buy it waterproof

so even scrubbing

won’t take it off the sink

It still doesn’t look right

There’s more

Baking powder and loose powder and setting powder and

setting spray and finishing spray and

highlight and brighten and glow and contour and

shape and sculpt and set and

powder and

spray and

set and

spill and

scrub and wipe and wash and cry and

it never comes off the sink.