The Burden of Disguise

I imagine myself as tactful. Studious pupil of diplomacy. Fly on the wall of their hearts. Eyes divided into a hundred images of a single face. True to the algebra of the skin. Accurate in theory. False in practice.

Sowing our conversations in drama and hyperbole. I've died a thousands times just to live one day. I've loved a hundred men just to prove one could love me.

I imagine myself a beauty queen. With her breasts taped to her dress. The Vaseline on her smile. Factoring how many of them would've loved me if.

I busy myself with scooping the dead seeds out of old jack o lanterns. Leaving the costumes to the optimists.

To carry on the burden of disguise.