Catalogue

You write me like a tick in a box.

Your sardonic pen,

An idle flick of a fineline.

Round writing,

Tracing the characters of my face.

The contours of my body.

The cartography of my nature

With your inky hands you mould the page.

You scrub out the parts that don’t suit.

You add in parts that do.

You watch me, and observe me,

Some perverted twitcher you take note.

The way I move

The way I sit

The way I smile

You’re that close.

Always there

Writing me

Always there reading me

Another specimen,

Another character to waltz through your fairy tale

Where you can direct the cast

Conduct and order, in power hungry supremacy.

A made to order character.

Write me, as whatever you want me to be.