Poem: Sho(v)e|s

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

Written in response to Big Tent Poetry’s Monday Prompt for 3 January 2011 (aka my birthday).