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| Photo by Godisable Jacob from Pexels |
She suffered fatigue
Forcing herself to be, a part of
Their world where she didn’t belong,
But it was her only source of income.
Her skin wore her daily stress,
Textured, swollen, and prematurely aged,
Darkness framed her tired eyes,
She had bags for days, and makeup bags
To blur, to blend, to beat her face.
Dehydrated with coffee breath,
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth,
While she fake smiled with red chapped lips,
That looked dried out from matte lipstick.
But above all this,
Her hair was whipped,
She was dressed to kill in fashion,
She looked just like one of them,
She walked tall, in Louboutin,
You would have thought she belonged.
Another poem to read: The Gated Garden
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