There is this woman near me
in the bagel shop
who’s shorts are so much so
that I can actually see her vagina

She is classy, stunning
typically perfect and sculpted world-class
with a typical man
who reveres her looks
wthout knowing a thing of her intelligence…
the manicured obsessing over the manicured

She seems quite happy, alright
looking around for attention and receiving it
content with being a painting rather than a book

Making me wonder why I even care

Perhaps it is because when I stare long enough
I see behind the eyes
the cracks, the imperfections that have been painted over
multiple layers at a time;
this need
just for the sake of the need
to humanize even those vainly idolized
even those who need to flaunt their vagina
in a breakfast shop
to be told how flawed they are
and exquisit all the same

af

(written with pen on paper)