Accessory

I seem to be a purse, amicable to the curve of every shoulder. Reach into me and take what you want, I have nothing but my service to offer. durable toward wear and tear, a novel of color, I suit your tie and match the shoes you wear.

I can take my top off like a tube of lip gloss. Shiny and sparkling, I lather your mind with thoughts of confidence as you use me and take your time. Application after application, we tire at the new change in trend, making my look something seen a million times over again.

I can make your features pop with the blackness of my soul. Mascara put on coat by coat and filling in a layer of something that seemed so normal. I can burn if put too close to the delicate eye, too much or too little and never just right.

My body is a maze lined with hills, ticklish by thigh and giggling from your lips to my ear. Whispers unfold the path to my center, gates of ivy that thicken and coil by nature's teasing banter. Share your breath with me and I will synthesize it into a treat, my oven’s glaze so warm and so sweet; bon appétit!

My fifth skin is cottony, still soft from heavy day’s rains, a fur over my blubber to keep me warm while you’re away. While I wear the finest silks, I long to be held by the callous hands of work, feeling etched in the deep lines of every best effort made.

An angel over my presence shines her halo on my head, a brain so on fire that it burns my hair so bright. Curly atop the moisture in the air makes the finest of ringlets in my hair. Load and unload, I wash and soap, basking in the golden light that my strands of time have grown.

I look in the mirror to find myself as an accessory, bought and sold, cured and cut, and worn for the onlooker's appreciation. I’ve washed out every stain imaginable, the duty of the prim and proper held in the classy fold of my brain. Predictable, I am used as a lookbook for those in search of convenience, tried and true to my naive guarantee; If I can make you look good, why do I get my seams split and deceived? Traded to the next buyer, color fading with each rough reach into my use, while the dawn and dusks come again and again, I wait for my final stage, decomposition.

I think I am thin until I sit down; folding over my own vanity while reaffirming the brain fold I created after noting how ‘ugly’ I look for the thousandth time. My mind is my greatest mystery and also my biggest enemy; psychological torture brought on by my own thoughts.