she said, with her usual smug smile. “apologies for the inconvenience; i was locked inside for fifteen away from an hour.” i replied with my sincerity: i have no poetry scattered within my head for you; many, many thoughts, but no binding coherency. the last thing i want to do is confuse and upset you. “no matter, my dear,” she interrupted. “you’re here now, and all my frustration is forgotten. just remember: i’m the beautiful one. bitch”. but, if i were beauty, would i be here, now? would i be capable of all i am? would i function in such a manner as i do; grasping you at the heart, wretching it away from your body, kissing it with lover’s lips and stitching it back up again? no, no, no, i doubt i would. if i were beauty, would i sit here, at my smiley entertainment console, hurting you as i do? but, would i also tuck you in at night, whisper “goodnight” and sneak beneath your view, throwing you into my lust, until you implode? no, i am not beauty. i would not choose to be, either. stupid choice, say it all you care, but i stick firmly by my own judgement. i’m beautiful like me.
