If you looked at me across a crowded room,
I’d always be the first
To turn my head.
In trying to differ from I’m most alike them.
In the morning, I dress prepared for every call
Of yours and then never pick up
My ever-silent phone.
I’m running through the fires that I lit
With my fingers crossed and heart of wood;
I’m just a product of whatever thing you say,
Hungry for the harvest
Of which the seeds I never sowed.
Don’t even try
Wipe the tears off my rosy cheeks
They’re made for you, they’re part of the show.
And please believe that I do want to see you
But only when I am prettier,
Prettier, than the face in the bathroom mirror,
Staring back at me with scornful eyes.