My inner rigger seems to strike hunters cold, rooted deeply with an advanced pray to target. My beauty seems only to be seen by those who slight fingers over flaws and see glimmers of gold in mistake. For I wear them like rings.
My smile crooked, illuminated by daring words stuck upon pearly whites. For would my characteristics need be toned for a universal attraction? Has my sense of wild and naturally beautiful don wilted behind my ear?
Am I your ideal existence yet?
