Ms. Universe

They never liked you in this town
Mama. They never really liked you.
They never could uncover a breach
In your sanguine countenance,
Or your righteousness for that matter,
Lady Madonna.
You seemed oddly quintessential,
The archetypical woman,
With your coy flirtatiousness,
And sexy elegance, 
Those twin melon breasts
Like protruding eyes in sockets
They’ve outgrown.
Flaunting it all, as if by accident.
Yes, they never liked you.

The woman may have envied
your plum push lips, the bottom half
Always protruding slightly more
Than is natural,
And then perhaps their husbands
Snuck a glance in their weakest moments
At bubble buns,
Smashed like egg yolks
Inside a pair of skinny jeans.
But don't think they liked you momma
They never did.

I suppose its because no one trusts
A dollface, bella bella. Covergirl.
Beautiful—bella bella dollface.
No.
somehow beady eyes
Are lackluster in the enclave of the living,
Who wants to see their own reflection
In marble scopes, or a colorless iris?
Almost...soulless, as if all that lies beneath,
Is blank space. Oh and here is the fear—
The fear that should the plastic plaster
Flake off your pretty little bones
It would reveal no more than a
Robotic humanoid of steel and iron,
Operating by the orders of appeasement.
You beta software bella bella callgirl.
Whoop! There's their whistle—whoop!
And your gears clink and clank
With such a disturbing clamor of metal…

Until they stopped.

Listless, rusted like dry blood
Through and through,
With holes and chimney charcoal,
And a loose screw,
Oh mommy dear!
No one ever really liked you,
But they only tell it
To the casket.