She leans into the mirror
Closer and closer
Until they are almost one
She purses her lips
As she slowly opens
A tube of bright red lipstick
She watches with reverence
And a humble respect
The monolith of red
Emerge like a sword
From its sheath
On the tube it says rogue
Like the rebel has become
As she brushes it across her lips
Soft as a feather
Like a paintbrush
Stringing out a line of calligraphy
On the most pure of white paper
She stays for a moment
As she always does
Looking her reflection in the eye
Her eyes burn like emeralds
A fire of ambition
With pursed red lips
And the smallest of smiles
She is ready to conquer
To never loose control
Of her life ever again
Now she is ready to face the world
With her lips bathed in red
The face of a new woman
The only traces of the old
Are exposed like roses
On the petals of her lips
The blood of the disposed of
Her old dead self
The self who used to look in the mirror
To hollow eyes
And bruises on her face
No longer is it her own blood
That lingers on her lips
But the bright red paint
Of everything she has overcome
They ask her why she does it
But they can’t understand
How far she tries to bury
The woman she once was
The weak one who was beaten
In her place stands a warrior
Fierce and strong
The trophies of her battles
Laid down layer by layer
On her lips
The blood of those she has defeated
And the blood she has spilt herself
She is the rogue
With the warriors seal
Painted on her lips
She faces each day
Knowing that finally she can defeat it

Tags: abuse, blood, red lips, red lipstick, rogue, strength, warrior

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 15th, 2010 at 7:07 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.