Monday, January 5, 2015

Dying to Be Beautiful

Broken Somehow by Cristina Popa

“Beauty crowds me till I die...”  Emily Dickinson

Glamour and Vogue
paper her bathroom,
airbrushed perfection
preserved on glossy paper.
The running tap
drowns the sound
of her dinner swirling
in the porcelain bowl.
A freak show mirror
hides the promise
sixteen should hold,
only reflecting
acid-rotted teeth
behind pallid lips,
long-dead hollow eyes,
a 76 pound skeleton
wrapped in obese paranoia,
Dying to be beautiful.

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