Mascara

The brush

Covered in the black ink

Swiped at my eyelashes

Made its mark

On my face

At least

That's what it used to do

Now it sits quietly

In its spot

Far away from reach

Because its dangerous

When I cry

It runs

It drips down my face

As if my tears were black

But tears go away

This stays

It stains

And everyone can see

That you cried

That you are vulnerable

I used to love it

It made me feel pretty

But then

I cried

And people saw

The black remnants

On my face

And they saw

That I was

For that moment

Weak

That my mask

Of joy

Could fall off my face

Along with my makeup

I don't wear it

Because I don't want

The ink

To run down my face

And for it to stay

Permanently in people's minds

Even after

I wipe it off

The brush will stay

In its spot

Forever and ever

Because

I'm vulnerable

I'm delicate

But no one

Needs to know