You see a struggling writer,
But scratch the surface and you will find that I am a concept.
And a troglodyte who tastes like kiwi.
I’m the wicked good girl that
You see as a single mother,
But wipe the lens and you will find that I am an idea.
And a Neanderthal that smells like strawberries.
I’m the dirty school marm that
You see as another corporate shlub,
But open your third eye and you will find that I am a vision.
And a Plebeian that sings like a siren.
I’m the dangerous twist that
You see as a basic brown skinned female human,
But pry back the plastic coating and you will find that I am an illusion.
And a Dalit with lips as plump as ripened peach.
I’m the ragged unrelenting vapor off of a recently exploded star that’s squeezed itself into the fabric of the universe that used to be.
But peer through the cracks in the labels and you will find that I am just a reflection.
And an antediluvian.
I am the most exquisite nothing that you could possibly imagine.
And you’ve imagined me plenty…naked…right?

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