Eyeliner,
Mascara,
Blush,
Sit in front of her
Anxiously waiting
To be used.
She picks up
The blush,
Gently brushing it
On her cheeks.
I’m there,
Watching,
Studying,
Her every move.
She’s the teacher,
I’m her student.
Ever so gently
The blush hugs her cheeks.
A rosy glow
Illuminates her face.
She moves her hand
With the accuracy of a painter,
Her face; the canvas.
The make-up; her tools.
Tenderly,
She makes sure
Everything settles
Correctly,
Perfectly;
Flawless.
She leaves,
But I stay,
Looking at my reflection
In the mirror,
Wondering
When will it be my time
To paint my own canvas.
Would it be as beautiful as hers?
Aww! <3
ResponderEliminarI loved it!
Great imagery and line breaks, your poem has a nice rythem to it!
Haha its very poetic, but it was too girly for me :P jk great use of the poetic devices and good story. the color is also cool haha
ResponderEliminar