Designed to be a butterfly, a formation he could not bare.
His yearn for a beautiful bird has me taking part in the enlargement of my wings to resemble a creature outside my comfort, my home.
He points out a flaw, and I sand it down,
Yet his failure to be easily amused has him pointing a flaw after another and I am left with the decline of nature, a decline of life.
A plastic doll burning in heat,
Picking up my smile on the floor so I could be complete, at least on the outside as the celebration of my insides leads to destroyed balloons, a pity party,
One a surgeon cannot beautify,
Yet he can, my unappreciative lover, however, he does not.
Not one pleasurable term, not a smirk, and each stretch mark, marks my flaws,
More unappealing compared to the rest of the galaxy, or so he says and I stick a pin, to remove more of my skin.
