what people thought of me
But then again
people didn't use to tell me
what they thought either
Now they do
and I'm wondering
if I do care?
If I should?
Since they tell me
they obviously think so
So I care for a week,
let them paint a picture of me
for me
It's framed and I hung it on my wall
It shines at me, since it's platinum
But it's no mirror of me
But then again
no mirror ever reflected me
the way I see myself
I seem to have countless reflections
I never look the same
in all the magazines
The reflections are like the critics
trying to interpret
the picture of me I drew a long time ago
And they never get it right
They get hung up on the colors I used
or how the lines meet
or when I painted it
and never take into account
that maybe I didn't know what I was doing
or maybe I knew it too well
But then again
why should they care?
I'm their job, not their pleasure
Though I firmly believe:
Take me as a pleasure
and you'll figure me out
Copyright May '04 by Adrienne
