Greasy Fixes

In the bathroom, reaching for something to lend,

a small tub of Vaseline, comfort to mend.

The edges are cracked, as if life took its toll,

I dip my fingers in, searching to fill a hole.

A friend said they needed hydration today,

and I offered my fix, like it’s magic at play.

But warmth feels synthetic, a comforting ruse,

slather on layers, but still left to lose.