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Coat it in pink,
flash a smile,
crease it hard
as they roll down,
martyrs of pain.

"Paws up,
shoulders straight!
Look pretty." 
instructs mama. 

Tummy in, 
flab tucked in black.
eyes apprehensive.
legs curled up,
I wait
a moment or two. 
Mind travels forth
and back.

"Is he looking?" 
eyes flutter
eyelashes bat
neck turns. 
He was, or may be
he might have...

Tummy in,
turn away,
flash a smile
small talk,
act busy.

I hear his voice
a little distant now,
get a glimpse as
I tilt eyeballs to the side.  

He looks at me,
she points a finger
with muffled attempts 
to hide laughter. 

Tummy in,
turn away,
flash a smile
small talk, 
act busy.

Mask it up,
smooth some kohl
on teary eyes.
coat it in pink,
crease it hard,

stroke your hair
with a plastic comb. 
corset your curves,
hold in tight.

Breathe less,
tummy in,
flab tucked in black.
sit in a stool
butt overflow,

eyes apprehensive,
legs curled up
shoulders straight,
glance at the hand mirror.
Oh! Hide that bald patch

Look around,
flash a smile,
small talk,
act busy.

Take a sip.
Oh its beer.
it'll bloat me up.
"Ah.. no thanks!" 

Eyes flutter,
eyelashes bat,
neck turns,
look away.

Dinner is served,
cheers, laughter.
shake hands,
nod away,
chew lettuce, 
flash a smile,
small talk,
act busy.

"Hey polka face!
baldy moldy!
Are you pregnant?
Are you exercising, beta?
*Trumpet sounds*"

Stilettos tap,
past muddles into present.
"Hey, Join us for a selfie!" 
she says. 
flash a smile, 
tummy in,
Are my arms fat on screen?
get a glimpse 
as I tilt eyeballs to the side.

Drive home,
untie corset,
bra strapped off,
sweatshirt on,
slurp unsalted soup

"Idi Amin!
Have you looked at the mirror?
I'll charge double for your seat.
Stop eating, fatso!
I'll help you in weight loss!"

Mind travels forth 
and back.
Tuck your tummy in.
Breathe less.
smear kohl.
crease it harder. 

Pop in pills,
Green tea.
wind down. 

"Hey polka face!
baldy moldy!
Are you pregnant?
Are you exercising, beta?
*Trumpet sounds*"


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I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
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PSA: GLAM-WHAMs Read on!

Okay. Let's do this.
Some facts are hard to digest but true. To all those pretty people with sour cream 'fairness' masks sploshed on their dusty dusky faces once in every week, the fad dieting extremists whose diet routine involves surviving a whole year through the energy generated by a single pea (Are you the dragon warrior? Tai Lung is on the look out), to all those having a face lift, botox and brouhaha for looking the GLAM-WHAM aunty-next-door (scratch that!). This is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
Lend me your ears! For the media is ambitious yet honourable! The idealism that you believe which you have set for yourself is an outcome of the billion frames that pass by every time you click the remote to fill your mind with the colours of the junk box. (I'm speaking about the TVs that you either get as freebies for voting for bad-guy-politicians or that flat desirable LCD screen that you've bought online on the TrapFart's Big Bullion Day Offer)
It has infil…