I am in tune with the lies I extol,
the falsified motions of my limbs
and the cracking heat of our friction.

Aghast at my fabrications, you would
demand a sincerity I do not contain;
I am not a vessel for authenticity
and you should be well aware.

It is obvious that I am
a fertility goddess,
barefoot in the kitchen
and impeachable in the bedroom.

a/n: Psssh who cares if I'm bitter and cynical about the whole thing?