Originally posted on
So now we know, You told me I wasn’t, But I was— Your creation. Said you loved me Just the way I was— But was it true? Yes, I was perfect Just the way I was— You said, But you didn’t care for: My curly hair, My dresses, My high heels, My red lipstick. So, I became a cut out, Of the rest of my parts With the parts you inserted, A sewn together woman. Then electrified and brought back To life by a love you claimed Was for the true me. Now the parts you inserted Die away, shriveling at the lack Of your electricity. I stumble, A stiff-legged walk to your door, Shuck this graying shit and warm myself By the fire I create to burn These rigor mortised parts. Thus, I become something more akin To myself once again— That little stranger With curly hair, Wearing dresses, High heels, And signature whore red— I become My little one.