we are / i am born.
we are / i am the she they write songs for, craft poetry, sculpt, paint, and design in their likeness of us/them. our/my body, breasts, hands, and feet are sometimes naked, sometimes with draped fabric, or other times just the barest whisper of flesh. we are/i am a brunette, blonde, redhead; every shade imaginable. our/my nose is aquiline, stout, or prettily turned up. our/my eyes are violet, emerald, coal, sapphire, or gun metal grey. our/my body changes shape from rubenesque to skeletal thin, curves exaggerated or pin straight. the only common factor is our/my smile which is always suggested and never realized.
we/i have no perception of time, but we are/i am sure there must be a history belonging only to us/me.
we are / i am depressed.
we/i have had many professions: courtesan, royal, painter, singer, actress, writer, shopkeeper, waitress, and a fallen woman.
we are/i am the she everyone talks about. we/i have been adored, loved, coveted, obsessed over, hated, ravished, admired, and maligned. if you love us/me, doom is sure to follow.
we are/i am their mystery. their perfection.
we/i did not ask for any of this; we / i never asked to be treated as the virgin or the whore. we /i never wanted to be something of an ideal rather than a reality. some have fought over us/me, declaring we were /i am the one who got away, left them broken hearted, a fantasy, ghost, or missed connection.
they wished we have/i had never been born.
we are/i am a classic.
we are/i am never left alone or allowed to die. we are/i am constantly reborn in urgency. we are/i am never asked if we are/i am happy, fulfilled, satiated, or angry. our/my wants never materialized.
we are/i am a religion.
we/i suppose this will go on forever. a being on a pedestal, to be flawless and indefectible. incorporeal.
i am tired.