i have these plastics for the skin and faces for those that lost their own in unkempt households for those that break apart that try to hold on for dear life to spirit as they lose the traction between the spikes of life untwined of life with a rewind button ready to be sutured up again by a thunderous regret and by the peace of the rains of the hills
a life without challenge is not a life at all, i've seen.
In go the stabs to my synthetic skin. Sew my eyes, recreate them with the charm of Rumpelstiltskin’s tricks. Stitch my lips, Color them with the scarlet of Snow White’s cursed apple. Snip my hairs, String together the golden threads of Rapunzel’s deathly charm. Stuff my *******, Fill them with the ingredients of witches’ wildest fantasies. Mold my legs, Fit them in for the glasswork of Cinderella shoes. Tattoo my heart, make each beat a praiseworthy beauty.
A poem about plastic surgery and standardized beauty.
She stuffed up her bra, puckered her lips, massaging the ache that came from her new hips. Her stomach had been tucked, her ***** uplifted, her calves replaced with something unfitted. Hey eyebrows drawn on, her contacts unblinking, "This is my new face", she thought without thinking.
Inspired by the song 'Mrs. Potato Head', by Melanie Martinez