bite
i am tired of manufactured fun
the clinking of white teeth
and the fiction behind them.
if eminence is truth
then i am a lie -
soot covered
obsidian grit
frail invertebrate pariah
set low
on a dime-store shelf.
a lowbrow queen in
low thread count sheets
the muffle of a sweat soaked pillow.
yet my narrative is fact
while your spit drips folly
through fabricated ivory squares -
I’ll bet my worth
that if you dust me off
you just may find yourself again.
- self