Plastic.
Wrapped.
Boxed.
Synthetic hair
with full makeup present.
IQ of the lifeless.
Skimpy dress
exposing cleavage
thighs, and back.
10 pounds lighter
than I really am,
and just as graceful
as a ballerina in mid-air.
I'm everything I'm not.
Not yet, nor never.
A click opens the door.
The colors invite
and the words welcome.
A stranger with a picture
Attaches like a band-aid,
a rips off hair as it goes.
He pretends to understand,
pretends to like my picture,
Pretends to see me anyways.
But a door was only opened.
Too bad, it wasn't a window.
No one sees me. Never.
I'm not myself
to anyone but myself.
You talk.
I beleive.
You deceive,
and I think why me?
I don't talk.
I don't see.
This makes me
as cold as you.
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