All
the gloss , glitter and glue
Cannot
photoshop the sheer phobia
Lurking
right beneath her skin
Forming
a palpable layer,
They
attack her
Only
when no one is watching.
She
seems so bold
But
is actually quite brittle
Her
quiet melancholy
She
is indeed a prisoner of her own device
Trapped
in bravado
She
just wants to cry.
Yet
when her man is watching
She
cannot let him see
If
the truth is really exposed
Won’t
he just flee?
Better
to break it off
And
be the bitch
Than
take it off
And
be his bitch.
Of
course it is all very problematic
But
who are we to judge?
We
all mask our frail insecurities
marinate them with worry &
deep
fry it till it becomes golden brown.




