I am not
self absorbed
well, maybe I am
others' eyes bounce
off of me like light
but all I can see
is myself
I
am
nothing more
than my collarbone,
and my shoulders, and my
bones and my bones and my bones
My arms
are blades
of plastic
My fingers
are knives
of paper
Just
a collage
of lines
and
angles, of
ribs,
and
legs, and
back
In two hundred
years,
come visit, I will look the same
My hip bones
enjoy the spotlight
My thighs can't stand
to be
together
You
could
see
right
through
me
that is,
if you
saw me
at all
the less
of me
there is,
the less
of a
person
I
am
And the
truth is
my skin is not
so thick either.