I want to be in magazines
and breathe in front of the world
looking beautiful and causing jealousy
I can be in magazines
because I'm willing to sell products
poison
unreachable daydreams
sense of fashion
lies
political lies
(and what's really the difference? It's all just semantic crap isn't it?)
brimming with confidence
and complaining about the success I have
the success that others dream of
because they'd trade anything to be me
which makes me better than them
because I don't like being me
and when I go to the ocean
the water makes me gag
retch
vomit
pick one
it's all the same
because there are dioxins and chemicals that are killing me
and no one seems to care or notice
that there are dead fish
and empty cans
and bits of wood
and drowning animals all over the beach
being washed in with the tide
because they're too busy
debating the lives of people in the magazines
that I know I could be if I only had the chance
and I'd hate myself and everyone would love me for it
and I would sell plastics
and rubber
and latex
and pesticides
and nothing that remotely resembles
me