Below is a poem I wrote about the faces we can put on, or we see other people put on:
Living outside yourself and inside barriers.
Sectioned off from the real you, watching as a transformation takes place leaving:
A shell – present but empty,
A skeleton – assembled but lifeless,
A brain – thinking without feeling,
A heart – emotional not logical.
Fragments loosely strung together held by the impressions of others.
Frankenstein is real, in an age where no – one is organic,
where media plays god,
where creativity is abused,
where nobody belongs to themselves.
Celebrating triumph after triumph with the development of humanity:
Gold medal for the one who exploits and deceives,
Silver for the one whose beauty is only skin deep,
And bronze for the one who can best hide their flaws with plastic surgery?
Little medals for the ones who helped achieve these victories!
The rat race isn’t finished until we have rubbed it in the faces of those with the ill -fortune of defeat.