on always looking ugly on video calls (a poem)

semi opened laptop computer turned on on table
Photo by Junior Teixeira on Pexels.com

The cold white light that burns

From frosty windows filled with clouds,

It pastes the skin in pallid white,

Defining bags that swim beneath the eyes,

And spots that came up overnight

Erupt like small volcano mounts

That cry for makeup scraped on thick.

I wish my hair would fall in curls

That bounce like other girls,

Not straight and straggled with the grease

From a shower missed last night.

The humble call with video too

Will be the death of you…..