Sunday, July 27, 2014


miles away from any sign of civilization,
is the distant village of buballee

where every month, newsletters spread
the latest pictures
of how men like women to be

the women stare with longing at the images
flawless skin
flushed cheeks
long curved lashes
smoky eyes
redder than red lips
tips and techniques

the women rush out to the market
to look like the latest images
they buy brushes and palettes of every colour
and though they leave with empty pockets,
and though there are whispers
of the strange and harmful items that go in the paints,
they still buy

the women keep the paints in tiny pouches with them,
wherever they go
they don't leave their homes without a fresh use
even if it's just outlining their eyes

but wait
does that sound familiar to you?
because you and I know it's not the village of buballee

I'm talking about you, girl
you, your pathetic little pouch
and your pathetic need to paint your lovely face
to look like another one-
drawn on a screen by a bored guy at work

does it really make you feel good?
to look at the mirror and have the face you didn't wake up with
staring back at you?

don't talk to me about feminism
until all of us ladies
walk around, stand tall and proud
smiling bright on the street
with our naked eyes,
cracked lips,
and spotted faces
stamping the pages of perfectly-drawn girls
below our feet.


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