we are the young.

we are the girls with the reddened eyes,
sipping alcohol and sniffing
whatever else is around,
flashing fake smiles
to counter inadequate age.

we are the beautiful.

we are the girls with the glossy hair,
spending endless hours
in bed with the mirror,
painting our faces with just the right amount
of false shine.

we are the broken.

life is hard.
and so we dull our wounds
with so many different shapes and colors;
a regular rainbow of everything
our mothers told us not to touch.

why feel pain
when you can feel nothing instead?

this creative slump sucks. i’m not even sure what this is. go figure.