Try

BY: DOMINIQUE SAULNIER

Once more, she follows the regime.

Get up.

Go to school.

Go to sleep.

The girl recurrently continues her routine.

The routine never reworks.

She never reworks.

Much like her mother, she puts on cosmetics to obstruct the blemishes she receives from birth. The tiny brush tricks the onlookers into believing she is someone new. She composes herself for the struggle lingering by her home.

She remembers the struggle her mother fights.

Toxins torment her mother’s thoughts by etching their horrific results onto her skull. Liquor pours into her gullet to free her thoughts from the confines of the illness weighing on her.

She feels fine.

She is not fine.

Much like her mother, the girl is not fine. The cosmetics unsuccessfully try to put the imperfections out of sight. The shortcomings continue to exist like infinite errors. Smiles no longer cover the fright she feels. The finish lurks over feeble forms.

Together, they put on blush to construct innocence on timeworn souls. They fool the soul collector with soft, innocent eyes. They grip one of the other’s fingers with infinite hope for tomorrow. The envoy of unbroken rest spots the mother’s senescence with sinister eyes.

The cruel soul collector rips the mother from her sobbing offspring.

Her mother is gone.

The girl puts on eyeliner while her mother’s cosmetics loiter in the chiffonier’s crevices. They will be left by in the murkiness until they become refuse. She will never touch them.

She wipes her eyes.

She picks herself up.

She continues on.

Grief presses her lessening resilience, but she continues on. Her mother’s voice cries out to her in night terrors. Her mother’s benevolent smile fills her conscious thoughts. Most of the time, the girl begs for silence.When the morning comes, she gets up.

The girl gives worn smiles to onlookers.

The blemishes become visible.

The suffering continues.

Her suffering is her own.

The cosmetics try to cover every ounce of torment while she mimics the person society longs for. She is no longer herself.

Every morning, the cycle begins.

Get up.

Go to school.

Go to sleep.

Try.