BECOMING HER
a slow process
dreary, difficult
suffocating me in suspense
black cups embrace my non-existing breasts
black lace presses my imaginary vulva
still, i am not yet her
breathing hard from exhaustion, excitement, fear
still i must wait
i brave the pencil point near my eyes
mascara, powder, rouge
the lipstick is nice
but i'm still not her until
the black ferocious wig
digs her claws thru the bobby pins and
a push here,
a twist there
i feel her becoming me,
i becoming her
the wig is firmly placed and
i smile her magic smile
my red, red lips proclaim
she's here.
Copyright © December, 1992 Mark O'Brien <marko@well.com>.
All Rights Reserved.