Rinse

We had an assignment to write a poem about beauty. This was the result.

A thick layer of foundation is caked

on every inch of her unblemished face.

She coughs on the harsh odor of chemicals

that glue each bleached blond hair

into its proper place.

The sky blushes, a deep scarlet

that matches the color of her cheek.

 

She stands at the bathroom mirror,

the bare tile cool against her sockless feet.

With a pair of long silver scissors in one hand,

she studies her reflection closely.

 

Mother always told her

that her complexion was too pale,

an almost ghostly white

that made her look sickly.

She was eleven

the first time she got lipstick on her teeth.

 

Mother had always told her

that her hair was like ash,

a dusty dark brown,

like her grandmother’s.

She was thirteen

the first time she dyed it.

 

Mother always told her

that her long hair was like a waterfall,

tumbling beautifully down her back.

She always thought

it made her oval-shaped face look longer,

like some sad gray-black basset hound

drowning behind the curtain of its sorrow.

 

Gripping the scissors firmly

between her thumb and forefinger,

she spreads the blades apart.

A long yellow lock tumbles to the ground.

The high pitched clash of metal on metal

erupts in the room once again, cutting the silence.

A sea of blonde fibers falls to the floor.

But, the water is refreshing.

She hadn’t realized

she was thirsty.  

Reviews

[Emily B]

wow!

[Helpless]

i agree, exceptional piece of literature! fantastic job on this!

[Lizy Coale]

OMG this is amazing! i love the rebelliousness and how shes starting to think for herself... i also love the long hair making her face look long, because long hair legit does that (: aand i love the references to the mother, also.

is this a personal experience or just something fabricated?