Anything but Porcelain Dolls

 Black and bloodshot  cloud my eyes

Sleepless nights, empty rest

Degrading this  masked disguise

With dreams of beng flawless

Eyebrows far from fleek

A bold untrimmed mess

The fearless attitude is on streak

Towards the stride of being flawless

Nails unpainted and destructively chipped

Frail hand are being oppressed

Fingers are sore but equipped

With the dexterity to be flawless

Lips are dry and chapped

The  outsude cruel and thoughtless

I am chained but never trapped

Speaking word of being flawless

 Frizzy roots and split ends

A mind corrupted with stress

From the knots a mane suspends

 With roars that I am flawless

Could clumps of mascara and bursts of eye shadow intensify my ambitions?

Could outlined brow possibly draw my emotions or inhibitions ?

Woulf fingertips of acetone and polish

Define that I am flawless?

 Would shades of red or pink unwrap my thoughts and phrases?

Would highlights or hairspray bring any difference to these changes?

Artificiality never decieves pure reflection

I will be full of flaws even when striving for perfection

The scars and stain never incompetent

Embodying them with ferocity and burst of confidence

I may never be as spotless as that doll of porcelain

But may I be flawless embracing my own assortments.