For the Cynics

what a finely crafted irony you are, my dear,

 

hiding so hard -- you're naked now,
but don't worry:

i'm not laughing.
your swinging hips and pouty lips are sticking hard,

just as planned.
i hate to disappoint you, but you seem to have pleased the b******s you love to hate.

no, you're not as clever as you'd like to think they think.

you missed a spot, my sweet, and i can see right through to the you that you've propped up on your beloved pedestal.
your hair is falling in your face now,

 

 

and i know you're dying to look through it

 

to nothing at all,  just like a makeup ad,
and give the camera man his hard-on.

so go ahead, ms. mysterious 2000, peek through, and don't worry --

you'll see my furrowed brow when you do,

because i once wanted to be her, too.