the pretty bag said to the poor girl.

i am every women's american dream and

i have a price tag most would deem

a little absurd because (I assure you)

they are emerald (or is it jade?)

in seethingloathingjealousy.

and in case you didn't know

i could be yours with some patience;

a few small payments over the course

of merely thirty six weeks.

it's a slogan so it's trite, but

i will make you complete.

but the bag won't say it's

made of skin taken off the

underside of alligators to feed

corporate sharks that swallowed her home -

that shat out a loan and

gave this town a mall to make an

alleged land of opportunity truly endless

for her to pursue but

in a sense of retail and food.

this will provide her a nowhere or

another dead end

which honestly started with her mother.

she was quite uneducated

(but in that common, typically american sense) so

she became a worker and then

she became a manager under

the power of arches, where she still remains

less than twenty years older but

dying and

seethingandloathing the world in a shell of

concealer and wrinkles.