just a face
of crimson cheeks
and painted lips
that seldom speak
wearing thick spider lashes
that flashes a smile?
And when it's washed off
it hangs on cloth
the painted guile.

Am I
just a body
of bouncing *******
pressed in a tight sweater
with legs dressed in black leather
wearing red stilettos
like white trash from the ghetto?

Am I
just a child
underneath my clothes
that strikes a pose for men
and weeps with paper and pen
in lines I rhyme and send?