Because I am beautiful

My soul is pretty in your eyes,
For it is after all encased,
Within a mask that’s lathered,
With things more artificial then nature,
Claiming to be character.

And you cannot paint contempt,
Onto my lips, even though I spit it,
Or scribble my cheeks with chalk,
To realize the chaos,
From the insecurities.

So remain a slave to habit,
An inkling through a nature,
That is chained to the aesthetic,
Because the pretty face,
Means the pretty soul.

Thus you give me desire,
And fill it’s empty, voracious cistern,
With cruelty and selfishness,
A dash of religion and romance,
Under the veneer of sex and cash.

I am the empty headed mannequin,
Begging for a life,
The golden haired harlequin,
Playing the fool who thinks
She has some wit.

xoxox