You spread the bright rose rouge all over my cheeks

“It adds color to your face, makes you look alive,” you always told me.

You swipe the bright lipstick across my mouth and hold up a mirror to me, “So pretty, baby. Open your eyes for me please?”  You beg with a laugh.

“Curtain call, ladies,” you call to me and my sisters, slamming down the cold mirror.

This shirt is so scratchy, I try to frown, guess I’ll be stuck in it for a while.

I climb into bed and try to get comfortable.  

My hands are painted a bright fuchsia. You place them atop one another and put them in my lap.

“Look alive, girls,” You mumble, a permanent smile stitched into my face.

We’re placed in front of bright white lights, I see the sun beams dancing on the inside of my eyelids and  I bet you wonder if people can tell. I bet it’s a constant lingering thought, it’s poking at you, pulling your attention away, as we put on a show for everyone.

My arms are thrown forward with a violent jerk. Everyone laughs at the punchline.

“Stop, you're killing me,” someone yells out from the crowd.

You took the words right out of my mouth