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False Lives
Like trophies in a cabinet,
They queue up side by side,
Each of them they hide away,
Behind their false disguise.
Their pretty little faces,
Mask an insecurity so deep,
That drives them to the beds of those,
With whom they choose to sleep.
It isn't really feminism,
Or wanting to be a star,
It boils down to the simplicity,
Of not knowing who they are.
No value for existence,
No value for themselves,
As quick as they are taken down,
They are placed back on their shelves.
