The foundation bottles lay, cut open,
Strewn like carcasses in the aftermath
Of a beauty product genocide

The ground is smeared with my running mascara
and my mangled hairbrush

Looking like a war happened with no
Winning side
Just chaos without cause and violence
Without passion

But that's not entirely true

Seventeen magazine told me all the ways
I could look prettier
If I tried

And Vogue made this ideal seem even more
Unattainable

So I did what any sane woman would do:

I killed that which only made me feel beautiful
On the outside
But whispered to me that I'd never be truly so
On the inside.