
Trip to the beach.
Promenade.
Another opportunity.
For my publicist.
To shine.
For my publicist.
To shine.
Swathed in taffeta.
Itchy and raw.
Itchy and raw.
Float down boardwalks.
Pretending the world.
Looks only to me.
Achingly hot.
Skin dripping in sweat.
But heads turn.
And pride swells.
Within my soul.
Feather corset.
Tickles my neck.
Unbearably so.
The urge to scratch.
Almost too much.
False smile.
Must look at ease.
Lace veil clouds vision.
Not a care in the world.
Even if I can barely see.
False fun in my eyes.
This is how I roll.
Lusting for sweatpants.
But no one can know.
My inner desires.
The things I must do.
That people enjoy.
Bemuse and amuse.
Yet make me rich.
So no complaints here.