Or your penchant for Louboutins, that’s got you putting on,
But you put me off.
I would have never imagined the uniqueness of Harajuku,
Could ever be condensed into a plastic, vacuous form.
The vibrance and eclecticism of the city mocked by sensationalism,
Cheapened by your carelessness and trend.
What a weight to carry,
Such a burdensome load to bear an infamous ambivalence in your name.
To expose your empty lyricism without shame,
Basking in the acclaim of the impressionable and weak.
Relishing that you can make painted up whores look chic.
Perhaps it was the hype,
Or the exaggerated sensuality of your curves,
As they are unattainable and you are unobtainable.
I imagine you laying there, perhaps many personalities ago,
Filling your behind and chest with confidence and superficiality.
I imagine you becoming ‘whole’ under a green wig.
Masking your pain with a façade of rebelliousness and nonconformity.
I imagine you as a slave to your own mind.
Riding as a backseat driver to your own personas,
Geppetto to your own minion of Pinocchios.
Breathing life, a iniquitousness that cannot be extinguished by your hand,
Or others.
As you are not just you,
You are what you represent:
Deception and uncertainty,
Sexuality and commodity,
Anarchy and disorder; (Dissociative Personality Disorder to be specific.)
Your release from Pandora’s Box is sadly enduringly prolific.
When will the Pink mist disperse,
And the masses wake?
To realize what we thought was a diamond,
is just a cheap fake?
