Cracked lips.

Her beauty was so exquisite,

perfect face, hair, body

Even an eye critique couldn't find a single fault

She had only one flaw, they said

cracked lips.

The sight of her dry, cracked lips makes them frown

They told her to apply some lip balm

She denied every time

as if she were proud of her cracked lips

refusing a little coat of moisture 

they were confused, 

"Why ruin the beauty just cause of those lips!"

They complained like a child

"It's ok," she replied every damn time

They sighed and moved forward 

waiting for another day to roll

to tell her the same

She just smiled, were they worried 

for her beauty or her blood?

She didn't know. She didn't care.

As the sun went to bed,

her eyes turned red, with a smile now a little strained.

blood started flowing through the crack of her lips

that reminded her of their every kiss.

I wrote this poem last December. When the wind was too cold, hitting me right in the gut. The warm clothes were not enough, and the vaseline, which faded too quickly from my lips.

Thank you for reading!