Grab a Towelette, Wipe at Will


United States
41° 11' 26.9448" N, 87° 51' 53.2656" W

I saved you a box of towelettes, in case it was hard for you to see the REAL ME.

Rub off the glittering gold eye shadow and see my eyes plainly—two, deep, brown, almost black. Two spheres, two note-takers, with twenty four years of telling time, teaching me the difference between tangerine and turquoise; eyes that discerned tears of happiness and sorrow, by the smile or the frown and the hand on the heart or the clench of a fist.

Wipe away the bronzer and see my cheeks that have laughed and gotten sore until they spasm. Notice layers of skin with hidden kisses from grandma, mother’s raspberries, and imprints left by silly boys and their stolen pecks.

Blot and swipe away the pink lip color—See my mouth for what it is. Two, mini mountain mounds have split and passed secrets along their ridge and musical notes sloped away from their curvature.

Scrub and circulate around the whole of my face until you’ve reached my foundation; now that you’ve rid of my concealer--see me.


I am an extrovert like the moon, or otherwise the sun. Yet I can fool you into thinking I’m no shine at all when I hide behind the clouds of my insecurity.

I’ve got hair that stands above me like it’s trying to make a statement and like it, I’ve got something to  say!

My voice sounds like the myriad of ways water travels. Sometimes it is like the steady babble of a creek, cool and eddying between one idea and another. Or, if I’m verging ecstatic it’s a lot like a waterfall rushing to greet the ground—loud, fast, and tripping all over itself.

“Ohandyoucan’tbelievewhathappenedwhenIwentoverthereandsawthatIthoughtto myselfhonestlyreallyforreal!”

Maybe, I’m just tossing up ideas like a small wave, one word at a time. “Cool.” “Great.”

But, see the point of it all, is this thing of me ain’t easy and grows in definition. I’m as wild as the earth that holds me and I can’t be “made-up” into one right way of being. I’m bold like coffee made with no filter. No Valencia, Lo-fi or Inkwell can truly make good my image.  

What I have was made perfect, as is, by my Father in Heaven. I am made-up, made beautiful, 24/7.

See me.


This poem is about: 



Fierce and real. Love this!

Lavender Punkin

You're beautiful.

I enjoyed this poem... keep writing!!


Gorgeous writing

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