People talk about my image like I come in two dimensions, like lipstick is a sign of my declining mind, like what I happen to be wearing the day that someone takes my picture is my new statement for all womankind.

I am a work in progress Dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding Offering me intricate patterns of questions Rhythms that never come clean And strengths that you still haven't seen

I am getting nowhere with you and I can't let you go and I cant get through.

I make such a good statistic, somebody should study me now; somebody's gotta be interested in how I feel, just cause I'm here, and I'm real.

I don't take good pictures 'cause I have the kind of beauty that moves.

I would rather have these things weigh on my mind. At the end of this tunnel of guilt and shame, there must be a light of some kind.

Smile pretty and watch your back