He loves the plastic me,
The one who is always smiling and never criticizes.
The one he loves is sort of like Echo in dollhouse,
She can be molded to what he wants.
He loves the sexy me,
The one that used to dress in lingerie for him.
To tease and entice him, to seduce him.
Little does he know the seductive wrappings hides emotional scars,
Like stretch marks that are hid in the light of day.
He loves my mind
But didn’t know I battled with insecurities about me and him.
He doesn’t know I had to try and keep positive about us,
When everyone was talking down on us.
He sees only me encouraging him not to give up,
Yet doesn’t see me trying to encourage myself not to give up on us.
I showed him my angel side
But slept with my demons under the pillow.
I was all he wanted in a woman,
But I, I wonder if it was a farce?
Was I true to me or just pretending?
Because under these masks,
These clothes lies a woman unsure of who she is.
She used to know but ain’t sure no more.
She searches beyond the plastic smiles,
She wants to search herself deeper,
Then just for sexual desire or pleasure.
This woman wants to make sense of who, what and where she is.
She needs to evolve, to know self.
