Perfect liar

24 3 2

I am trained in the art of perfection.

I am caught, and taught , my spirit is tamed.

My lungs are constricted my airways maimed.

I read the words, the bold rejection.

I'll make a mask, my greatest confection.

You won't see my flaws for I am ashamed.

That sin isn't mine I must of been framed.

I shake, praying, to pass your inspection.

But isn't it funny, I am amused.

Even with my best, I am not okay.

I'm not surprised only somewhat confused

I hope you see my dilemma someday.

I gave you myself and I was refused.

So why reject my synthetic display.

Becoming Pretty- PoetryWhere stories live. Discover now