war paint

i used to see all this paint on our faces, and clothes we cloak ourselves in
and all gaudy things to
hide the things we are as masks.
never did i see anything but fig leaves,
trophies of our first shame
whatever eden
we left behind
for more worldly toil
because
we wanted to know
because some apple
taunted that
our paradise
was a lie
and innocence
and ignorance
are not bliss
and unaware is
nothing
but
whatever it was,
our very first sin i
thought, back then,
anything we cover up with
was an attempt to hide
the shame of it
and everytime we skimped it down,
cut it shorter, higher, lower
broke the rules that were left
i thought it was defiance.
but this pastey liquid i apply to my face
now is
war paint
i'm not hiding from
memories of eden
i'm fighting for a new dream
i've seen it in the paradise of my mind
so much better
than the first
whoever created either or both
and i'm damned
sure
i'll make it real
in this life
or the next, whichever comes first.