the great pretender

Shaneice
Shaneice
Aug 8, 2017 · 2 min read

My husband unearthed some of my terrible, old stories and poetry from my college Fiction Writing class. I thought I’d publish them one by one. I’m in the mood for a good public flogging.

Also, I can not stress enough how terrible they are. I’m certain the professor passed me just so she didn’t have to endure me again.

This one is a poem called “Calm Down Child, You’re Only 17.” I remember the assignment. We were supposed take basic instructions for any task and twist them into something creative (a poem, maybe?). Anyway, I used the instructions for applying eyeliner. I was having a difficult time mastering the application, so I figured I would kill two birds with one stone: I’d learn something & get the assignment done.

Easy peasy. However, as you’ll see, easy doesn’t always translate to “good.”

At some point along the way, I decided that I didn’t like the poem I had turned in and tweaked it into something, I don’t know, darker? I took a lot of the eyeliner instructions out and re-titled it “the great pretender.” Or maybe “the great pretender” was supposed to be a sequel. Fuck if I know.

It, too, is terrible.

Calm Down Child, You’re Only 17

Where are you going in such a hurry, honey?
With those big brown eyes, that navy color won’t do.
Here, try this plum. The boys may spend more money
if they plan on having a chance in hell with you.

Just who are you trying to be tonight?
Drawn in with a pencil, your eyes appear soft;
Causing all that drama with liquid just ain’t right.
You must keep it sharp before starting off.

Hold on to this as you would hold a pen.
Head laid back, eyes in a half open state;
Draw the line from where your lashes end.
Then smudge your line and seal your fate.

Child, make that lower line a bit thicker.
Practice makes perfect. Whores do it quicker.

the great pretender

She hides her heavily painted eyes behind a veil of shame. She borrowed the palette from her mother. She’s a pretty little piglet all grown up in her high heel shoes. Luckily tonight the boys weren’t as rough. They can sense fear, like hungry wolves. They snap and claw at her, her innocence falling to the Buick floor in shreds. Mama might have mentioned something about those animals. But she missed it while she was putting on her earrings. The pretty little piglet is all grown up in her high heel shoes. There is a line drawn as thick as her lower lash. Uncharted territory, it taunts the wolves. They can sense fear. But what was it that mama said? Crumpled up dress on the floor, it’s too late. She hides her heavily painted eyes during the walk of shame. Now she remembers what mama said: “Calm down child, you’re only 17.”

Shaneice

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Shaneice

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