Skilfully you draw black lines,
Squeeze glue, brush brown,
paint white and run layers over
layers of beige, and finally
dust a bit of pink over the cheeks.
You stand back and wonder
why your art is not recognised.
You walk down the streets
with the portrait in your hands
and someone laughs. They snigger,
they point out your flaws but you
see no mistake in your work. You are
blinded by vanity and deafened by
the words of the rich and the famous
who say, "How good of you to
join us today and teach the girls
of the world the ways to beautify
themselves so the men will never
leave them again." You see no mistake
in your work, only in God's masterpiece,
staring at you from behind the
looking glass as you wash away the
deceit that fools no one.