My face is full of poesy.
I have a fascination for faces, I have sketch many facial portrait, always of women because I am a woman and I know what it is to carry a feminine face rather than a masculine one.
Yet, my face has been carrying many poems.
Those of love when my eyes shines,
My cheeks get colored pink.
This was true love.
“Was” because I don’t know if this love is one to be admired from far or to be lived.
It hurts as much at heals and gives life.
My face also painted grey or blue,
full of tears of dark khôl running down those cheeks once painted pink.
This is heartbreak.
“Is” because my heart has not been mended for the past two years.
My face with its curves and lines has a strong layer of skin, under a thin layer of fleur bleu feeling,
Lines springing up in the corner of my smile, by the side of my eyes.
Those are the worse that could happen to a face for some people.
But it is the best for me, because those lines are an archive of my memories, my stories and my dreams.
My face is a gallery of my life.
Hate it or love it, it is mine to keep, cherish, adorn as I wish to,
Until the day my face forever goes to sleep.
This will be death and the beginning of my heavenly life.
Author: Gassy Traore
Email: [email protected]
Author Bio: Poems are catharsis ❤️
