Junk.

I tear
out hair,
red handfuls.
Handfuls of red
crepe paper.

I make eyes
at myself
I make my eyes
out of green plastic
and then get jealous
when I look at you.

My spine
is just
a string of pearls
and where the
clasp rests,
so does my head.

Diamonds
are
forever.

But fabric
is not
here to stay.

I'm
recyclable, darling
so you can just

throw me

away.