How I became your mannequin,
I will never know.
You clothe me in your poems.
You adorn me with your tenderness
with your passion.
I am decorated by your songs.
You whisper sweet things into my plastic ear
and run your fingers up and down my plastic arms.
Knowing(thinking) that my heart is as plastic
as my limbs(you'rewrong)
And that I will model your love to the world
because that is what I, your mannequin,
am here to do.
One day, you will not need me anymore.
I, your practice lover.
You will, unknowingly, strip me of what has
kept my plastic body together.
your words, song, touch...
Maybe that will be the day
That I have needed(dreaded) since the day
you claimed me.
Perhaps that will be the day that,
when I have been stripped down,
layers of practice-love peeled away, and I stand before you,
you will know me.
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I think the idea of practice-love is very powerful.
ReplyDeleteIt's such a familiar concept, and it hurts to think that you can be so devoted to something that someone else considers simply a phase of their life, something to do before they move on to something else.
I don't want to sound like a broken record, but I love this.