Beauty and the Beheld
"But, Lord, I hate being beautiful,
as if the curtain rising on stage,
every day performing, a dutiful
actress earning beauty's wage.
And their eyes, always following
like radar driven ordinance,
I, the target, they, gods allowing
no escape, nothing left to chance."
Filet mingon, name me the choicest cut,
a piece of meat before the grill,
to be consumed, my home the gut,
forgotten, till again, he'd eat his fill.
"Lord, let me take the veil, shave my head,
masked from brow to toe save eyes,
than let them leer, dream my bed,
abase my soul until it dies."
Poems From the Goober Tree http://nathoo.wustl.edu/goober_tree.htm