If I'd've worn eyeliner,

would we have been friends?

 

Does the length of my eyelashes

determine how much of a person I am?

 

Given the choice between

loud, pink, animal, sunshine summery thin wrap dress and

plaid uniform,

which would you dress me in?

 

Does a pretty face change you?

 

Take a closer look. You might

be afraid of what you see.

 

It's the same starched, plaid uniform, same eyes and face.

They are

Mine.

I claim them.

Deck me out like a Christmas tree with tinsel, lights, and bows,

But I'm still here.

 

Look closer and you can see

the makeup washing off.

Cloudy saltwater spilling from once-clear

borders of dirt

brown

eyes,

sending gray-black

marks down

pale cheeks,

Washing Me Clean

like a painter's brush in a jar of colors.

 

The tears cease when they've done their job,

and you want to run away,

back to peachy summer and outlined eyes,

back to smoothness and light,

tinsel and bows.

 

But I want you to remember

the beauty that you've seen

the imperfection that I embrace.

 

You're still the same

one who might've liked me more

had I worn eyeliner.

 

And if nothing else, this picture of

A hellish Valkyrie

in a plaid pleated skirt

with black tears staining the canvas

Will at least prove a useful repellant,

while I thank God that I didn't wear eyeliner back then.