There is no such thing as the perfect girl,
or at least that's what my mom used to tell me.
That's why I'm slowly creating her,
one facial feature and
highly specific interest
at a time.
And what means of sick science
am I using to produce this homunculus?
Why, nothing better than sweet blue pills,
Slipped between a smile
See me bend space!
Contort and distort the flesh!
Go against ancient norms!
and confuse the elderly!
No one can quite see
the beauty inside of me.
so I pull it out
with skirts and dresses
and eyeshadow and effort
saying please oh please
judge this book by its cover
I want to pass
Not ninety,
or sixty,
barely even twenty.
It would still be nice
if one of them was a touchdown.
If I was alive
before modern science
I would be stuck
in the void
screaming
smashing mirrors
drifitng in the ancient dark
But now?
I have hope
possibility of change
and the backing of a hundred girls just like me
who talk like me
who cry like me
and tuck like me
and walk like me
I'm making
the perfect girl
and the first step
starts with me