Hide Them

Breathe in the silence of the things we lost, the things we took at cost and everything in between. See the women in the white dresses with big diamonds on their fingers and play to the crown of onlookers that give adoring eyes and tell you she’s perfect. 

Look at the motion of the black and white as they dance and clap and feign excitement for seven straight hours dancing in circles in the middle of nowhere because this is the rest of your life. 

In the corner she is watching, the spinning and the commotion and the glasses clinking back and forth, ice in drinks, cigars puffing clouds of smoke into the rain and everyone saying thank god and much love and ever ever after. 

There are swollen bellies and stuffed sausage dresses and too much makeup and mixed perfumes. There are compliments and shows and side photo shoots because after all it is your day but only if the internet knows. 

I hear it, I hear it always, the buzzing. The talk of the people, the things they say; amazing, special, wonderful, perfect. 

Perfect they are not. 

Today beautiful people spent twelve hours erasing scars to make sure that nobody sees them for their own personal show, their own personal revival. 

And I miss them, the little shattered things they put back together, the wounds they healed and the things that didn’t work out. Don’t tell anyone about them they say, they are not beautiful enough. 

And the problem becomes, if you don’t hide them too, everyone will think you are ugly.

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