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poetry about being yourself
poem for the cynical
what a finely crafted irony you are, my dear,
hiding so hard you're naked now.
but don't worry;
I'm not laughing.
your swinging hips and pouty lips are sticking hard,
just as planned.
I hate to disappoint you, but you seem to have please the bastards you love to hate;
no, you're not as clever as you'd like to think they think.
you missed a spot, my sweet, and I can see right through to the you propped up on your beloved pedestal.
your hair is falling in your face now and I know you're dying to look through it
to nothing at all,
just like a makeup ad, and give the camera man his hard-on.
so go ahead, Ms. Mysterious 2005, peek through, and don't worry you'll see my furrowed brow when you do,
because I once wanted to be her, too.
--rosamor
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