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  • The Purple Hydrangea Team

Her

A poem by Jazmin Spillan


I’ve stared at this blank screen, for a good

Fifteen minutes,

It went black.

I’m still not sure what it is, I have

to say.

I can tell you, though,

She can be startling when, I

Least expect it.

Maybe it's the way my eyes aren’t looking, for

Something wrong.

Perhaps it’s the way Her smile, kind of,

Looks real,

And for once,

She’s not trying.

It could be the way I look at Her and think,

She should be happy with Herself.

I suppose I’ve never really seen,

My own face.

Only reflections; mirrors,

Pictures, windows,

Computer screens.

Usually, when I look for Her,

Disappointment chokes me.

Today, I caught a glimpse,

Of vulnerability,

Of inattentiveness.

She was precious,

Staring back me with Her hopeful flame,

Hidden behind Her mascara,

Her masked cara.

On Her face,

cracked foundation lied,

And underneath,

The most pure of surfaces.

For once, I was happy with Her.

With her complexion, and her mismatched lips.

I smiled at her.

She watched me,

Begging for approval.

I nodded, and closed my computer screen.

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