But All the Haircuts in the World Couldn't Make You Pretty on the Inside
You pulledscissors from the
cup and began to cut
away a life's work, a picture
you worked
Hardly
to achieve and
sculpt from clay or perhaps
porcelain and paper clippings,
beauty
That went
only skin deep;
eye shadow and lipsticks
smeared over your pale demeanor,
hiding
Your soul.
I knew you once,
so serene an angel
I thought you might never fade out,
yet now
You drag
the blades across
your neck, so gracefully
coming of age in a dirty
bathroom.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.