Oriole

My makeup is my oriole,

Calling me to confidence,

Sharing with me the

Secret to standing tall,

Shoulders straight.

With this oriole flying

Above me, I am armed and ready

To face anything. I am fearless.

I’ve been gifted with

My own warpaint.

My oriole taught me to

Sing my own song,

Paint my lash feathers

The prettiest colors. My cheek-

Bones burn a fever storm.

My eyelids had never been

So decadent before I was taught

To extend these wings,

Wings so black and sharp

I might take flight one day, too.