I don’t wear makeup because I wake up
at 5 AM to kick box, stretch my limbs, work
up a sweat in any way I can before I conquer
the snow banks that conquer the sidewalks
lining my way to work.
There is no room for makeup beneath
my parka hood, my hipster hat, my hand
My cold-shed tears would wash away the handy
work of morning mirror time before my destination
I don’t wear makeup because my eyes itch
and I like to scratch them.
I don’t wear makeup because I do not dare
fall in love with a fake face I no longer
recognize. Mascara would murder
my multitude of freckles found lining
the trail of my pug nosed tip to the ears
plugged with piercings.
My lips stay the color of lips, my lids remain
crayon tan. My lashes are lanky by their own accord,
they need no nurturing.
My Cherokee cheeks cut knives
no brush can build, my eyes gleam
the green no pencil can puncture.
I don’t wear makeup so my skin can sigh,
gulp the air its been strangled by.
I don’t wear makeup because I won’t
let my beauty go down the drain at the end
of every day.