Red Lipstick

 

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Red Lipstick

They whispered,
“She must not have suffered—look at her, all dressed up.”
But they didn’t see the nights I didn’t eat.
They didn’t hear the sobs muffled in pillows.
They never read the letters I wrote and never sent.
This red lipstick?
It’s not vanity—it’s my battle paint.
Each swipe says:
I am still here.
I am still healing.
And I am still worthy of joy

                     KULSOOM AFZAL