Remember me as an inspiration,
nothing I am is written in the stars.
Remember I am but a mutation
imprisoned in your mind by hidden bars.

I will never be adored perfection.
I lost that one piece that wouldn’t quite fit.
Me, a butterfly in your collection,
a petit decoy in your black tool kit.

My pattern seek trace, on your hollow skin,
shake them off you, molt your skin, dearest love.
Dry smeared red shades of lipstick off your chin,
leave only fingerprints on me with glove.

I am not your character so adored,
take now any love that you might afford.