burning me
how they look
with eyes hot blue
and lips dripping pink
between the perfect spread
of a glossy fashion magazine
in the mirror
i see sickles
i hate
the dark slant
of my eyes
sometimes i want to carve them
like a jack-o-lantern
two empty
gaping
sockets
framed
in pulp
even if i pretend
their eyes
are blue butterflies
they're smashed on the sidewalk
with feathers smeared off
stomping black high heels
even if i pretend
Pinocchio noses might grow
from those white make-up
pasted faces
they are still there
model heart-outlined
initials in cement
nobody cares what's inside
of me - scalpels
digging frog eyes out
sucking poison glands
