The Red on her lips
should be smudged by now,
but instead the lipstick clings desperately
like a starfish to her lips,
perfectly traced and filled in,
perfectly aligned from the outer edges
to the place where each lip delicately meets the other.
They're not pursed together or pouting,
nor are they spread open wide.
The corners turn ever so slightly upwards,
as if being tugged at by some angels from God.
"It could only be God pulling the corners of my mouth up,
because I couldn't possibly be making them do that myself,"
But to everyone else,
there she is.
The girl with the perfect red lips.
The girl everyone wants to be or know.
The girl who has it all together.
Or so it seems.
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