glamour

Her name was Glamour,
With glittered eyes and mascara painted lashes,
Too brilliant and perfect to be loved by anyone,
Too sheltered for her own good when she entered the world.
She spoke normally in calm even tones,
With a deep set of breathes and questions that were intelligent;
With lips that were bleeding and blistered from the cold.
If you kissed her then, even on the cheek, you would feel her,
Feel her sudden saddness and punishment,
Feel her prison and controlling drive to be everything.
She wasn�t Rose or Beauty,
Who would stay up late at night adoring themselves in the mirror,
Not breaking their mirrors and cutting themselves apart,
And Glamour could pretend to be smart with her actions,
She could pretend to cut the void in her smaller.

She was Glamour,
Too critical and mistaken for an opinion.
She wore an invisible tiara over her strawberry hairs,
With diamonds and saphires and fields of gold.
With rust and webs and chipped stone.
If you wrapped your arms around her you could feel her,
Feel her silk and wasps,
Feel her gardens and blooms that welcomed your thornes.
She wasn�t Charity or Faith,
Who raised money for people more needy;
People who could be happy so easily.
And Glamour couldn�t be happy,
Nor could all the money in the world satisfy her void.

Her name was Glamour,
And that�s what she always will be,
Glamour with dust and sparkles and hate.
She was temptation and simple,
Thoughtful and depressed.
She wore gowns of satin and leather and lace,
With drapping materials that dragged on the floor;
With rips and tears and stains in between each thread.
If you danced with her in your arms you could feel her,
Feel her dry throat and teary eyes,
Feel her swings of luster and poisonous flowers.
She wasn�t Hope or Joy,
Who made people feel naturally uplifted;
Not artifically high with needles and powder.
And Glamour could pretend to be happy with that,
With her void coated in cocaine and heroin,
Satisfying her chill and ecstasy.

She was Glamour,
Too high-classed for her liking and created by mold.
Her holidays were herself and no one else,
For she was walked on and tasted by everyone.
She slept in her royal throne with diamonds ingraved,
With chisled poems and gold crusted gems;
With fake shine and cracked glass that could cut.
If you watched her sleep in your arms you would feel her,
Feel her heaving breaths of nightmares and monsters,
Feel her demons and witches with cringing faces.
She wasn�t Star or Lucky,
Who praised the earth with their waltzing presence,
Not dancing appearance with strings and puppets.
And Glamour could pretend to act normal,
With her void of scripts and smiles that hurt,
Reading over her looks of happiness and excitement.

Her name was Glamour,
With rows of pearls and flashes lighting her way.
But she was lost and wounded,
For they had all blinded her with suspensions.
She crept along in her lonely hallways,
With fancy expensive furniture and portraits.
With ghosts and demons and shadows of fear.
If you followed her closely you would feel her,
Feel the cramp in her toes and the hate toward herself,
Feel her hate blown with sand and waves and bells.
She wasn�t anyone but herself,
Who calmly waited for her tears to dry on her pillow,
Not sleeping or dreaming with sugar plums and cream.
And Glamour could pretend for only so long until she couldn�t anymore,
With her void over flowing with emptiness,
Screaming to be ended.

And that was the end of Glamour,
Who walked the street with her head held high,
With bruises on her ankles and blisters on her temples,
Inside and out.
She died that night, in that hall, with the fancy furniture and ghosts.
She died so that she wouldn�t be buried,
With coffins and flowers and tears,
But with happiness and forgiveness.
And Glamour created herself into a mold,
New and young.
She was Selena Moon,
Blessed and born.
And if you take her into your arms you can feel her,
Feel topaz radiance and warmth.
Feel her warmth, meant for you, and the love she found,
Inside and out.