The fears, the depth of my condolences skyrocketed the inevitable,

Drowning in a puddle of mud, yet I never get tired of screaming,

I am a woman of moral etiquette, must keep quiet… shhh,

Scandals ruin misery, it’s my business to negotiate, 

Performing piety on the deities of my soliloquies, 

Praise to my idol, you are what keeps me alive,

The look on their faces, I can just tell they hate my rear-view, 

What did I do? What makes me so different from them?

Is it my responsibility to hold judgement even if I’m just a doll?

No matter what I do, I throttled up accountability.

Hand on the lever, foot on the pedal,

In solemn prayers, I cry myself,

This ingenue, forsaken like a wisp of memory years ago,

My male friends call me out with their horror,

I bottle it up so no one will know,

Silent, ever yet so persistent,

What will become of me once I lose my novelty?