She looks at the stranger in the mirror
And sighs perhaps in disbelief,
Her words are yours, so is that dress.
She is everything you want, perfect.
The trophy girl, the show-off relation,
The object of your timely lusts;
Now is the time she disagrees,
Starving herself to feed your needs,
Your fragile masculinity, your only feat.
Man, you are, you call the shots,
Killed her dreams, turned her into a rock
She knows exactly what you love to hear
But she cannot please you anymore, dear.
She calls it quits and takes the risks,
To find herself once more.
She has uncovered you bit by bit
Peeling your touch and taste off her skin
Now she stands in flesh and blood.
As real as she had ever been.
© Suranya
