the Make-Up Criminal's "secrets"

And all the people say / "You can't wake up, this is not a dream / You're part of a machine, you are not a human being / With your face all made up, living on a screen / Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline"

dear Make-Up Criminal,
i know everything you tried to hide from me

thin body, gaunt face, 
your ribs looked like they'd been gutted

these are not things you can cover up

face down, voice quiet,
you never smiled like you used to 

these are not things you can cover up

just letting you know
that hell, i'm a poet too. 
how do i know that you're one?

because i know all your hiding spots
and every little poem you write
goes into that neat green notebook
with the false name on the side. 

lies burn on the back of my teeth, 
like i don't know what you think in the dark
living as though i'm a ghost

my hands seem transparent these days, 
they shake with each breath i take,
stained with herbal tea and willow charcoal

as i pick apart my essays and piece them back together,
re-imagining what we could have been
Make-Up Criminal, we could have been proper siblings

yet instead you insist on this fractured relationship,
where i stop seeking your approval
and you cite busyness as an excuse

do not think that just because 
something's breakable means it's fixable
i'm afraid people don't work that way

and in the approaching dawn,
early in the mornings when the streetlamps
are no longer tasked with replacing the sun,

i see your face far too early. 
pale in the window
silhouetted by the bathroom light

cat fur adorns her blankets, 
thrown around sleepy shoulders,
her eyes are opened by caffeine 

so do not mock my secrets,
dear sister, 
for i know all of yours. 

The End

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