This week's Prompt at Mum Turned Mom (link below) is perfection.
I start my Rose book (which I'm going to do an overhaul on, because I think I'm working out why no one wants to publish it) with a consideration of perfection, which is of course, unattainable, although a near miss is pretty good.
We will keep aiming for it though, and beating ourselves up for not achieving it. It's a word that seems to get talked about a lot, particularly when considering beauty, and makeup.
I am a big fan of makeup. I love black eyeliner, especially teamed with a smokey eye and minimalistic lipstick. I have been known to paint trees on the side of my face, and that's all good.
I love watching people do makeup. I follow Illamasqua and Jonysios on Instagram, and they are both awesome feeds, with totally unnatural, brilliant looks. I love it when it's unnatural. I mean, if you're going to put colours on your face why not go wild and have fun?
The thing that creeps me out is when makeup is done to make the person look like they're not wearing makeup, but they don't have pores, or blemishes, or any of that human stuff. That to me smacks of the human face not being good enough, not perfect enough. It is not natural to be poreless. We are not defined by our brows. Which brings me on to my poem. This was longer, but it was a bit ranty, so I cut it down and down and down, and here is what is left:
In other news, a couple of my poems will be appearing in Product Magazine. I'll let you know when I know more about that.