Tired Poem by Georgia Ann BanksMartin

I was tired of being a woman,
tired of the spoons and the pots,
tired of my mouth and my breasts,
tired of the cosmetics and the silks.
-Anne Sexton

I'm tired, not of being female, nor of cosmetics,
I’m tired of artist lining my brows circling my eyes,
debating whether my eye-lids should glitter
in black diamond, or smolder in smoke,
both go well with aubergine,
staining my cheeks the color of burgundy wine,
glazing my lips in a similar hue,
alluding that they taste as sweet,
ending sessions by sprinkling bronze power,
so rich in color I expect it to smell like coco,
I can't mix with my morning milk,

weary of my skin being described as translucent
because my blue veins are visible,
yellow as if I should be ashamed of my ancestors.