You don’t see me

You see what you want to see
the broken doll who dances for your pleasure
or the angry depressive who refuses to take your blame

You don’t see me

You only see what you need to see
the sparkly shards that glint in the sand
or the pretty painted affectations that spark your imagination

You don’t see me

You only see what you project upon me
the pictures you pull from my words
or the interpretations you decide lie between the lines

You don’t see me

You see only what you want to play with
the toy that waits beneath a bow to unwrap
or the silent object for your manipulation

You

Don’t

See

Me

Yet here I stand, plain as day, performing vivisection upon my soul
displaying my entrails upon the glistening sands
waiting for the gypsy to read the tea leaves of my self immolated wounds