I am not a wise girl.
I'm foolish at best, 
All I know of this universe lays beneath the crevasses etched in my skin that I wasn't even a conscious being to know how they even got there.
I know of the silk ribbons that are my legs, 
do wonders.
I know the highlights of my stripped hair, 
attract a variety of strangers.
I know the painted mask I smear makes people believe I am
"pretty",
Valuable.
Within the vanity of my reality 
Remains the wish for authenticity,
I am not a doll.
I will not say "I love you"
As you try to pull my string.
I've ripped that from my back years ago,
For I play no foolish games, 
And for that I'm seen as *broken.