Faking It

You’re sewing sequins in your skin,

Washing in watercolors.

You’re beating away breaths of who you’ve been;

The bane of conservative mothers.

You’re painting on plastic expressions,

Masking maddened eyes.

You’re ripping away the shame

That began between your thighs.

Never asked the devil for attention,

But blundered onto his path.

Never teased to taste his tongue

That felt of silken ash.

Never meant to fall into his fever;

A delicious, sordid doom.

Never expected the pain

That welled within your womb.

So in time try to heal the torn bits

But the brokenness only builds.

So purge the poisonous pleasures

That every curving crevice fills.

So trim yourself with tinsel

To hide these hideous flaws.

So maybe you can cope

With losing what's most precious of all.