Tailored

Mar. 29th, 2008 at 1:01 AM

It pains me to think of your face. To while away the hours, to whittle away the days like scrimshaw until I can see you again. And you, you are truly a thing of beauty, not even this shallow soul can deny that much is truth. Curse all the times I scoffed at girls like you my friends and I would laugh at the discos. You opened my eyes to the lies I was hiding in my soul. Loud and abrasive and crass, I adore you. You take me as I am, foul weather and obnoxious laughter. You make the word "fuck" sing when you say it. And it plays on the twisted slinky spring strings of my heart. But I must admit, for as much as you flaunt your style in everyone's face, I want to change you. Not the core of you, of course, it is the thing that inspires me most. It is your barbed wire, slut red lipstick wearing, fuck me heel wrapped soul that carries me thought each miserable day. But yes, I must admit, there are a few things I would alter if you would let me. You wear your flaws like your offensive sense of fashion, a suit of armor you don to keep the fools of the world at bay. Snapping their jaws at your hooker-heeled ankles they are hungry for what you wear so well: Confidence. Even if it's a mirage, they some to lap at your sparkling waters, never knowing their unworthy mouths are filled with the stinging sands of your brilliance. It's not your confidence I wish to temper in actuality. No, in fact, I want to inflate it. You're a tapestry that doesn't need anymore encouragement, mixing paisley with plaid. But there are a few threads out of place that I would love to tug on with my insidious fingers and devour them with my clever mouth. Oh, let me change you, so the world can see you for what you really are. Don't fight me about it, just succumb because I want nothing more than to alter you in all the ways you hold yourself back, and then set you free. You are a sling shot, loaded with piss and vinegar and lightening bolts. You've been drawn back so long, your elastic straps are starting to crack under the pressure. Let me steal your finger off it and hurtle you to your targets. Let me slide that weary strung out finger in my lustful mouth and curl my tongue around it in spirals. Relax, and let me do the shooting for a while, my darling protege. Stop fucking fighting me about it and just hang on for the ride. I may be tired, but I'll be the last one standing in the end; right by your side basking in the limelight. And you can hate me and thank me for it later, I really don't care which one anymore. But I've set my sights, and I always, always, get what I want. So when I ask you to go hiking, or on long walks, or to count my sit-ups before I count yours, fucking do it. Know its not a request but a demand you must meet. And why, you ask? Why if I adore you for all these things you do without even thinking would I want to change a single scrap of you? I'll tell you why if you haven't figured it out yet.You are that girl I wrote about in that shitty poem months ago. And although I can't hope to captivate your attention forever, I know you are a walking god damn goddess. And I want everyone to know it like I do without having to do a double take. I want you to wreck the world around you with whiplash and traffic collisions the way you already do. I want you to be as perfect as you are, in all your fucked up glory. Because you are: perfection in motion. Forgive my violent tongue, your enigmatic beauty has unleashed its contents and I can't hold back any longer. So if I have hurt you with these words, I sincerely apologize. But I'll kiss those bruises I left on your unrestrained ego if you let me. I'll run my greedy perverse hands all over your god damn body and show you there's NO reason for you not to rise to the level of your own beauty. Fucking surpass that shit, girl. Stop hiding in your own skin, the inner wall flower shaking her ass to hell and gone out loud. You know, or you wouldn't wear it so fucking well that you are meant for greatness. Fuck humility, and self defecation, and self mutilation, and humble endings. You are the new image of Adonis hidden behind a chain of curtains. And since you let me in, and I saw what you keep hidden so well, I want to rip every filthy curtain down and set them on fire at your feet. I want to show the world the beauty I have seen so easily. I want them all to fall miserably in love with fantastic unattainable you, just like I have. So when I say, I want to change you, it's really a sweet lie masquerading as brutal truth. I don't really want to change you, not in any way that would kill your spirit. I'm not asking for you to forsake yourself or be anything you weren't already. What I'm asking, patiently, pleadingly, desperately, is for you to give me your hand and never look back. Let me make you reflect everything you are with a single glance. And you can be thick, I wouldn't have you any other way, making idiots dizzy with your hourglass figure filling their head with the need to keep turning you over, but you can't be unhealthy. And you can carry in you all the secrets of a once wanton addict, but you are going to stay clean as the driven snow you used to snort from now on, damn it. And you can sport your sexy scars, the runs in your skin stalkings, but you can't add anymore marks to your frame in anger or self-hatred. And you can take pills if you want to by the dozens, but you can't indulge in being "crazy" any longer. No more than it feeds your genius. And you can visit barren black tops under blankets of stars to let the voices of your dead friends haunt you, but I won't let you share their fate. I'll sit right there by your side in the dark, listening to the promises you make me and wishing they would come true. I told you I only make promises to break them. Like everything I say, it's half heartbreaking truth, half bold faced lie. This is the one promise I will make in my life I actually intend to keep, fuck all the rest. I may never be rich, I may never achieve notoriety, I may never achieve greatness in this miserable wasted life of mine, but come hell or high water I will drag you to the level of YOUR greatness. Kicking and fucking screaming I will push you down the path so boldly laid before you. And you can call me a hypocrite, a shallow fuck and blisteringly vain. Go on and do it, I'll take it all gladly. I AM all those things. I'll wear their scarlet letters with pride. Because just like you, I used to have scars. Only mine were stolen from me with the help of lasers and skin that stubbornly refuses to reveal my self abuse. And just like you, I used to wish my white horses didn't have to rage in a corral of memory. And just like you, I used to be infatuated with my mental illnesses. And just like you, I used to hide my beauty behind the crippling excuses of "Fuck what society thinks about my body, I'm beautiful this way. " So YES, I am a hypocrite, and I'm proud of it. Because I may be vain, but just like Narcissus I know beauty when I see it, and you are enough beauty to tear my eyes from my own image. Cast me aside like the rest, tell me if I really loved you I wouldn't change a damn thing about you. But you'd be so wrong, sinning against yourself for remaining hidden from the world. Let me make you the beautiful flowers you write about, your roots are already steadfast in the soil of this world, you just have yet to bloom. Tied and staked like some exotic orchid, I will take my sheers to you, sharp as switchblades and cut away the tender shoots until only the strongest blooms survive. And you will be as beautiful as you always are, only impervious to the frosts, foul weather, and unmerciful heat of the sunshine of life. Where weaker annuals will wither and die, you will thrive, profound and perverse, the eternal perennial. So I've said too much yet again, and I wish the words could have been spared from your velveteen ears, but I'll ask you once again and leave you in the embrace of your own silence. The checkmate is yours to play out now in the response to my question: "Can I conspire to re-create you in your own image?"

Music:Flawless - George Michael