Blank. White. Stark. Ugly.
That is how her canvas starts out.
Devoid of beauty, but full of creation
That which will destroy the bleached barren
First, to prime with peach
Slathering, coating, covering that
Ivory ichor that threatens to consume
with something warmer, with a pink tone.
Then to high light with yellow.
Dabbing and dotting to decimate the sudden
Shadows. Where did they come from? Along with the
angry red spots? Quick, cover them. There, gone
Now for a little powder, to dust, the make matte
All that flawless, fake canvas. There is still kohl to be applied
and liner to be added, gloss to finish up the entire portrait
Of this lovely young woman
She won’t leave the house without her canvas painted
Primed, perfected, for she believes that without
all the paint and color and deception
She is plain. Stark. White. ugly.