A Forth

A ton of arrogance,
I know she can’t do well without me,
Not internally.

A ton of certainty,
I’m sure she presents her image happy,
To persuade herself joyous,
And appease their wandering eyes.

A ton of ire,
I’m sure her chest burns,
From consequence of poor decision,
I’m glad.

A ton of space,
I promise she’s empty inside,
Like a beaten tin can,
That can’t accept her bruises.

A ton of insecurity,
I swear she’s still hideous,
In her eyes,
And still blind.

A ton of curiosity,
A check up on me,
Will kill the cat.

A ton of pieces,
I’m sure still forth a woman,
The rest a jest,
Presented whole.

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