She Does This to Herself.

I can’t cry.

I don’t want help.

I won’t fuss.

I hurt myself.

You look Good

Good looks Sell

Unanimous agreement

My vote cast in invisible ink

The higher you lift me

The deeper I’ll sink

Are you brave or dull enough

To scale perception’s wall

Does it crumble or contain

The secrets of us all?

Face spectate in mirror

Her gaze a joust of Disdain and Wonder

Their lances lack the aciculae

To make lay of her demons asunder

Poor predilect pearl

Ripped from mother’s shell

scrubbed of her very essence

matte polished perfection

Ready to be torn apart by dogs

She does this to herself daily.

She won’t feel a thing.

Her corset-tight chest a vault

Lined with callous commentaries

Fear of failure lies comfortably

beside the ghosts of unrealized dreams

And a little girl’s wishes

never presented to a lucky star- remain hopeful- so it seems.

She does this to herself.

Proffer your pities elsewhere.

Sweet, Sick Kitten

They wouldn't help you if they could.

Pointing, gawking, pointless talking

her beauty unexpected

paradoxically produced

By force invisibly connected.

Naturally sublime splendor

Embellishment mandation

Judge me Please with eyes tender

Satirical Degradation

A pinch of plebian perfection

A pound of pernicious perdition

Sprinkle just a skosh of scruple

Staid- sedulous on her mission

She does this to herself I say.

Waste not your compassion.

She’s numb to gentle lenities

Charade formed for your fashion

Precariously paramount

Beauty teeters up above

Stripped to snippets of herself

Still seeking truth in love.