Behind the Closed Door

I sit in the dressing room, wringing the phone between my hands
The black nail polish scratching as I subconsciously chafe the surface of the receiver
My poised posture now a mere mass of misshapen muscle
Tears starting to swab down my pristine make-up
The colored drops making their way down to the velvety, cherry-red carpet


His last words thundering in my head,
First hiding behind a veil of utter disbelief and then out to taunt me


I look into the mirror and see a porcelain doll
From flawless to now cracked and discolored and dull
The rows of yellow, bright bulbs around the mirror radiating back an intense heat
The scent of perfume suffocating me now
I have become a perfect mess

I look up in despair and see a silhouette in the glass stones of the chandelier
Then look down and hopelessly find myself in the shimmer of my heels
Stagger and reach the fancy couch but cannot set myself down
The tears now dried, as if stoned and pulverized on my cheeks
The skin-tone foundation starting to lose its set

All of a sudden emotions come crashing down on me
Of revulsion, exasperation, disgust, fury
For using me like an ornament, for adoration and praise
And then replacing me with a new embellishment
As if I was some trophy wife; capture the attention and diffuse it to you

My trembling hands take the glass of water but it does no good
I need compassion to be quenched
I need affection to extinguish my rage
And warmth to cool down my simmering soul
Then the clock strikes a complete hour and I know its time


I get up, brush my hair, dab on a little more lipstick, smooth down my gown
and walk out to where the audience awaits a celebrity

pictures: Jasleen Kaur