She sat cross-legged
On her bedroom floor with a thesaurus,
Digging her toes into the mascara-stained carpet.
This was self-expression
To some, but a duty to her,
And a good way to sell herself
Your secrets are worth more than your body
When your face can be cut up
And sewn together again.
Hollowed out eyes eventually made her alluring,
So she'd never give up her worst features.
She had to choose the longest
And most ambiguous word,
Or she'd be easy
And stripped of her beauty.