[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ . This was a difficult poem for me to write, btw.]
My morning routine consists of such:
I shower to make my hair shiny,
Scrubbing my skin with scented beaded gels,
Removing any unwanted hair,
Adding scented chalk under my arms,
Brushing the water from my hair,
Crimping the strands into tight curls,
I apply concealer to hide the bags
That have been slowly encroaching under
My eyes, I dye my lids with color powder,
Line their outlines and plump up the lashes.
I then try and pick from my obscene amount
Of clothing to find the perfect match between
Comfort, appeal, and practicality.
I then run my fingers through my hair, adding
Volume to the curls I worked so hard to make.
All this so that a man might give me a lingering glance?
All this so I might feel like I deserve to be wanted?
I am better off sleeping in to stop the torturous
Progression of those bags. I’m better off
Finding a man that can appreciate the raw product,
Not the dolled up façade.