my revolution wears dirt like lipstick
and god d|ess the blood is gorgeous

 if you'd just get close enough to taste my scrapes

under gauze & plaster
I fell on the ice again

                                   in practical shoes

I'm not authentic — just clumsier than you

gagamama gold your shoes
while I scrape mud from soles

                                           we made you
                                           my boobs are deadly too
suffocation instead of flame

                                     I don't need to be a cyborg
                                     but I am
                                                   playing one in bed

to be ugly
to be   human, barely
to be grotesque
                           how often must I cut my hair
                        to repair split ends
                                                      into artifice?

        once you're heeled you can't control

falling more than my feet
can change the snow

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