They call me a supermodel.
I sit alone on the dirty couch.
Thin, starved, and frowning;
caught up in the chaos of noise and lust.
I watch a girl kiss another.
It catches me by surprise.
I learned early on
that they resent my beauty.
They hate my integrity,
which is slowly fading away.
They speak about those perfect freckles,
above my perfect lips.
They stare at me with jealous and perverted eyes.
My every move,
they remember,
mesmerized.
