My voice, should it be a delicate vase,
of clear crystal, no sharp edges curved,
a ting chiming in man’s ears?
My thoughts, should they be non-theoretical,
of popular publishings, no substance there printed,
a simple sheet for man’s mind?
My persona, should it not be portrayed publicly,
of hidden agendas, no relevance of my actualities,
a display of blinds for man’s hypocrisy?
My beauty, should it be beratedly betrayed,
of women’s notions, no reasoning made necessary,
a mockery of my form for man’s inhibitions?
My soul, should it be forcefully stamped,
of passengers sailed, no returns en-route signified,
a record of castaways for man’s repudiation?
My heart, should it be pumped heedlessly,
of blood boiled, no harms seen bleeding,
a deficient freezer for man’s appetite?
My structure, should it be sans shape,
of lean ideal, no curvaceousness imminence,
a vessel vain for man’s acquirement?
My feet, should they be faintly faltering,
of grounds stood, no principles posed steadfast,
a pair pleasing for man’s vulgarity?
My eyes, should they not view emphatics,
of ironies entangled, no theatric crowds empathised,
a stage defiled for man’s enthrallment?
This poem can be read on poetry.com- http://poetry.com/poems/255322