I woke up and my face was clear and even

My skin looked fresh as the dew on the inside of a lily

Skin so pure the gods must have kissed it, but then I spot it

Clear plastic case holding my face the way I seem to like it, the way others tell me they like it

Shades of liquid I pour on my face like the tears that will leave tracks for my fears to run circles on

Palettes and pots, lotions and potions, my room contains a witches brew of chemicals and pigments and pastes

Lily skin soft as a feather becomes hard as ice while I contour away sweetness and a gentle disposition for what the kids on Instagram call “fierceness”

Eyeliner must be so sharp I can fly with the angels I’m never going to be friends with

Eyeshadow so pigmented and so strong Superman can see me from Krypton

Blush like a flare signaling my cry for help because my face isn’t looking so fresh anymore

“Naturally rosy” is no longer in my vocabulary; flowers don’t look so sweet anymore, recoiling at my touch

I am weighed down by the dollar signs that prance across my fave claiming they own me, taking out a regular mortgage: a per hour rate

Fresh faces are not what I’m familiar with unless I’m dreaming or the sleepy-eyed curtains of dawn open up the sky before it’s time for me to plaster my mask to my face

I wish I knew the feeling of a fresh face; I wish I knew what a fresh face meant; I wish I knew how to be okay with a fresh face

I see fresh faces and I know them; they sit next to me and they talk to me but I don’t know anymore than what my eyes can see

I used to be fresh faced: bright-eyed and bushy-tailed

My face didn’t know the stain of foundation or the scrape of mascara; the only thing that touched my lips was chapstick

“Fresh-Faced Girl” no longer shows up in my contacts but if I look hard enough, “Beautiful Girl” takes her place because my face is fresh and beautiful no matter what I put on it

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I behold fresh faces wherever I go

Mascara heavy lids and chapstick coated lips, no matter the product, sheer or full-coverage, each face is as fresh as the dew on a lily – clear and even, so pure the gods must have kissed it