She wraps herself in wishes and stares into an abyss, her eyes are blue and drip with seawater. It's rough against her broken face and she wishes she were delicate.

She wishes she were a porcelain doll with soulful eyes and pale, pale skin and perfect hair and pristine dresses. She wishes she had dresses because she tires of nakedness; there is only so much beauty in the human body and she has come to hate her tangled limbs with their rough skin and bright blue vein maps that trace like a puzzle.

She is not a puzzle. She is see through.

She wishes that she could look in a mirror and see a puzzle. She wishes she had pieces that fit together instead of being a sheet of glass that was not made properly. She wishes she were a puzzle that made a grand picture, full of detail and life and wonder instead of being a sheet of glass that can be filled with everyone but herself.

She wishes she had a self instead of being someone else, everyone else. Everyone else has glittering eyes and a soul that shines with their own trumpeting beauty while she is left with their scraps, low class next to their shimmering lips and coy words (words she doesn't know how to speak and will never ever understand) and their high necks that tease their throats with fabric. She has never had a high necked shirt, never had that flirtation with conservative dress.

She wishes that she could encase herself in a different life. She has danced with that life and the person she could have been but she has never been able to look it in the eye. She has looked others in the eye as the ladies looked down on her and the men forced her down on them; she makes sure to look them in the eyes because she wishes she could hold onto the pieces of their souls because it's not fair that they get to be real and she has to pretend that her fuck-me-heels and faux confidence and the ropes they wrap around her wrists to bind her to bedposts because they like it (she always pretends to like too because it it always seems to mean something more and she needs meaning in her life when there is none) equates to a soul even though she knows that it never means a thing to them.

She wishes wishes would come true.