Untamed

She puts the final touch

of bright pink

to her lips.

A quick look in the mirror

of her painted face.

xxx

She hates it.

Hates everything it

stands for.

xxx

She wants her face naked.

The bare, soft skin

showing, with no shame.

xxx

He tells her ‘no’.

She has to look ‘pretty’

for dinner.

What the fuck does that 

even mean?

Who the fuck

gets to decide what’s pretty?

xxx

She isn’t some 1950’s

housewife on show.

She isn’t the picture of glamour

that the magazines portray.

She isn’t skinny

with legs up to her armpits.

xxx

She actually loves

those post baby rolls.

The markings of a body

that has given life

and will continue

to give life to all around her.

xxx

She loves slipping on

the comfy, baggy clothes

that allow her to feel

like herself.

She feels sexy,

feminine,

like a kick-ass mama…

xxx

She doesn’t want 

a painted face

just because ‘they’ tell her she should.

Whoever the fuck ‘they’ are.

xxx

Still, she conforms.

At least for tonight.

With her made up face,

she zips up the tight green dress

that hugs her figure

perfectly.

The high heels match.

xxx

She turns,

taking one final look,

wanting to cry at her reflection.

But… she breathes,

smiles,

and walks into her husband’s arms.