I sit here, picking manufactured beauty from my dolled up face,
eyelash by eyelash, smearing the darkness
across my fingertips,
and thinking of mail order brides.
They could travel the world while in-love
stay-at-home mom's tend to see the kitchen sink,
and bathroom toilet.

I recall a time when I planned my life
according to my all-time-record of low-self-esteem,
and told all the boys surrounding me to,
“not get their hopes up 'cause I'm gonna end up on the streets of the city as a prostitute just to have a warm bed in the winter.”
that's all I thought I deserved/needed.

sometimes, I catch myself still wondering.