Eloquence is my enemy.
Attractiveness has never been in me.
I am just a broken doll, strung up to brittle strings.
A puppet, but a jester.
I tried to play the part that was my own.
Until, never in the leading role was I shown
I melted into the curtains back stage
To find something about myself that was not a plague
Finding nothing I settled myself for playing the role of someone else.
Imitating, pretending.
But in the ending
Like the beginning
Eloquence is my enemy.
Attractiveness has never been in me.
And I cannot fit myself into the corset of perfection
Nor can I jerk myself into the stage directions with interest impending.
Neither by reflection
Or inflection.
