I paint my nails a pretty cobalt blue,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The type of blue my grandmother would\u2019ve loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The type of blue that would\u2019ve existed as<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A pair of heels in her glamorous closet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She always had the elegance of an angel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now, she floats above somewhere,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Probably still carrying her lipstick around<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like a magic wand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The nails dry with a gorgeous gloss finish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They glow vibrantly under an ever-smiling, sinister sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The cobalt shimmers,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Spotlighting the confident, ethereal color<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Which is plastered onto my nails.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stare deep into the nails<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And almost see my grandmother\u2019s<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stunning reflection<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Contemplating me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her curly brown hair<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Always sat like a halo above<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her shoulders;<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her manicured nails were<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Always paired with her shiny<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Wedding ring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My nails are nothing<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Compared to her perfection,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And yet, having them done makes me<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Feel momentarily beautiful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I go to school the next day and wait for compliments,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like a robot waiting to be programmed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI love your nails,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The mass says in unison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I reply with a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My cheeks rise ludicrously to my ears,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But my heart remains unbothered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My stupid mind tells my heart that the mass is lying;<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Complimenting me to my face<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But laughing at this dolled up swine behind its back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I go to admire the nails as I open my locker but notice that<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A spot of beige has snuck its way onto my thumbnail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Great<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The cobalt blue nails have already chipped;<\/p>\n\n\n\n I just started the day but my mask has already begun slipping off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I go from class to class<\/p>\n\n\n\n Like a ghost aimlessly wandering the halls of a high school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t receive any more compliments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I suppose even a sliver of my real self turns people off<\/p>\n\n\n\n And keeps people away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After school, I go to a cute boutique to cheer myself up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I try on a blouse with pretty pink polka dots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Part of my mind thinks I look like a princess;<\/p>\n\n\n\n Like the beautiful teenager my seven year old self always dreamed about becoming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She would\u2019ve twirled around in this blouse<\/p>\n\n\n\n And paired it with her grandmother\u2019s azure glass heels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She would\u2019ve worn it to school and felt like she owned every hallway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I can almost see her small hand pressing against the mirror\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n The other part of my mind sees a different image.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It sees an ugly girl with a figure like a chalkboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It sees a beast entangled by foreign fabrics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It sees grotesque claws expanding from under<\/p>\n\n\n\n A once pristine cobalt blue polish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walk out of the boutique without buying anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hideous creatures like me don\u2019t deserve beautiful clothes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I head home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I rush to my bathroom to fix the blue nails,<\/p>\n\n\n\n But accidentally pick up the polish remover<\/p>\n\n\n\n Instead of the bright blue polish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The blue comes off quickly, as if the clock just struck midnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m no longer the cobalt blue that my nails once painted me as,<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m now just a monster with boring nails and a practiced smile.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cChipped\u201d is a poem that explores self-image and the masks we wear for the world. Through its central metaphor, this poem unravels the fragility of self-confidence and the weight of inner criticism.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":78,"featured_media":2197,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2196","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-creative-arts"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2196","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/78"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2196"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2196\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2211,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2196\/revisions\/2211"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2197"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2196"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2196"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blueandread.asbarcelona.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2196"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}