FAAAKE.

FACE.

A face is a point in which you stop to watch. You become engaged with this force. You want to take your eyes off of this, but you've never seen anything like it. Such beauty, such intensity, but made of plastic. Hard shells of identity. If I knew how to take off my mask and trade with someones made with peasants hands, made in sweat shops, and loved everywhere. Then I would. But I can't. If you take my mask off you will see a 'Made in China' stamp on the inside of it. Just like everyone else. But the delicate beautiful ones that you see plastered all over the world all over the pages of brainwashing media are not stamped at all. They are too special to dare stamp.

Perfection right in my hands, but I can't steal hers. But I can admire it from behind mine. Boys laugh at mine, make a mocking of it. None of them want a stamped girl. Behind this cell is full of water from constant tears and frustration. My life might shatter but this fucking mask never will. I'm stuck with it, and I wish someone could find it and know they must have it. Another one to add to the collection.

FACE.



ugh. what a fucking waste of thinking. please I stop myself here.