She scrapes her scalp with the metal teeth
That promised to bring her beauty,
Then destroys
Each ringlet of pulchritude with burning tongues of fakery.
She slaps orange liquid on to her pale face,
Desperately disguising every perfect imperfection.
Darkening her sight and reddening her speech,
She puts up the barriers to prevent
Her emotions from revealing themselves.
Squeezing into pieces of bright cloth that accentuate her figure,
She smiles at her superficial curves.
Staring vainly into the mirror,
She grins.
Because she no longer resembles herself.

Drowning inside hands.
A fluorescent chime.
Skin scrubbed radiation.
Force-feeding plastic and sugar and flesh.
Pushing and pulling until tendons flail weathered
Up. And. Down.
Up and down upanddown until the store of powders, prints, nails tumble out carmine and is sobbing
gagging on a high chair.
The candied calculator like heart-shaped pupils and sticky soles.  
Opaque ID’s and strands of you abandoned in navy sheets.
Shoulder tassels taught on Adam’s apple.

Love stitches bedding and hollows bodies.
Love lights the West and lines waste baskets wet.
Love is a little girl vomiting into a lion’s den.

Only the sum of a room,
Just so much accumulated stuff.

Once, I began to fall in love
With a man.  But it was his room,
The sum of his things, which cemented it.

As it turns out, he could not maintain his worth,
His values were papier-mâché;

And the objects in his room told lies.

Tastes like death
Tongue to the gallows
Winter in her veins

All flesh fails
Maggots run empty
Gorged headless
Enfolding
Imprinting

Limbs twined to the bone
Reap nothing
Limbs twined to the bone
Reap nothing
Limbs twined to the bone
Reap nothing

What am I?
Mother, father, (ladies first)
Can I be pretty?
It's warm in here, a green-
house of orchids. The ladies
& gentlemen come in to
have a look, woman's always
first.
At least,
give me the benefit of doubt;
Will I ever be pretty?
Doesn't matter much to me,
only, ladies first,
describe what it means to be
...human-god.
Human-god, human-god.
Jesus, and
I can carry my doubt like
a knapsack
through the cloud of eye-ful
bodies,  (fellow gods)

That is a lot of gold,
Missy.
Everything is metal,
it attracts me like the
reflection.
That is a unique thing,
Darling.
It brings me to
introspection;
is life vast? is there more,
for instance, than
that shiny--?
The word jumps from my lips
but you,
Sweetheart,
are bought for a high price.
The bidder is my heart.
Please try not to  object
to my being so objective.

Nobody likes ugly
Cracked pills
Shackled head
Pushed down
To give you head
It's me you see
That used to be
Happy and free
But now I have added
And you have subtracted
On my resume
Good is gone
Bad has begun
Nobody likes ugly
And I am very
Very Beautiful on the outside

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?**

    Fairest of them all you ask? Your question seems unfair.  
    Am I to pick the brilliant mind, or she with pretty hair?
  
    One who stands and fights for all the things she finds unjust?
    Or for the one that gets a second look, the one that all do lust?

    She who amuses you greatly, that girl with the sharpest wit?
    Or the one with the "perfect" body, that a size two would fit?

   She who will stand and take a bullet in her religion's name?
   Or her with no talent, and yet still strives for constant fame?

   Fairest of them all you ask, this is the wrong question indeed!
   You need to look inside yourself to find the answer that you need...