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I'm weeping in my room with the door closed
face forced into pillows
mascara scarring pillow cases
my face is
swollen - stolen gasps of breath
and I think it should be said
I am ugly when I cry.
the surface of my face cratered like the moon
and every centimeter of my skin
is screaming how old I am ...
spilling the secret of every SECOND of my age
and it is easy to say
this isn't pretty.
Some women look beautiful when they cry.
staring into the distance with a stoic gaze,
a single tear pirouettes down the dance floor of her face.
No, my cry is JUST as clumsy as I am ... a rip roaring rage
a fall down a flight a flight of stairs, my chest caves
and every ounce of my pain is visible in a hideous display,
this is ugly.
This is palatable anguish.
This is vanquished composure & over exposure to the heat of circumstance
third degree burns
don't turn your eyes from this.
This is embodied opportunity missed and manifest undeserved disaster.
Aftermath in tears and mucus
this wailing is my song of all the sorry excuses
I made for others,
this is smothered hatred
and justice suffocated
and I aint afraid to say it ... it just aint pretty.
But an exorcism
shouldn't expect to be
before this poison gets the best of me
let me stick my finger down my esophagus
and vomit this
done wrong / betrayed / not enough / thrown away
life unraveled / lost battles / cage rattled rage
and I'll smear its rancor across my face
and I'll wear it like the most hideous war paint.
Faint of heart and requiring beauty to the eye
need not apply,
it is an unlovely cry
but oh , when I smile.