Prayer number one:

Being the object of several desires
gives you the objectivity to crave nothing.
I find myself growing out of this body,
growing into a space above my brain.
A place that is safe enough to call a retreat.
This is where I go, when I want to feel humbled.
When I hear nothing but silence as I walk into a place
sheltering nothing but ver'men' and egotistical suits.
Men,
Hushing one another to catch a glimpse of my charm.
If I crave nothing, and I eat nothing,
as it goes, I must be nothing.
So why should a man love me?
Cliches aside,
I could never be content with being a face in a room.
I hunger for being the voice in a crowd,
laughter in silence.
However,
Nobody ever shows pity to the girl in a red dress,
not once have I been asked for the time
with the intention of ever knowing the answer.
Not once will someone compliment my thoughts before my apparel.
Lately, I don't shower,
I don't wear layers of anything,
I just want the outside of me,
to prove nothing.
In fact-
I want nothing more than to prove my face wrong.
Yet, as a woman in the end
I'll find myself, a slave to the mirror.
Just like my mother,
crimping and primping,
shaving, and lasering,
fixing and filtering.
I am not a cold queen yet,
I don't ask who is the fairest of them all.
I'm not vain enough,
and even if I were,
mirrors are seldom honest.
If you could see me now,
the insides of me, twisted into cement
shattering into a powder I inhale to feel at ease.
You'd understand.
And maybe with the deterioration of my pale, smooth skin,
I will find the love of my life,
and maybe, for once,
he'll truly love me.