A Poem I Wrote - Model Thing

This poem is intended to be from the perspective of a model feeling disillusioned with their job.

Model Thing

To be flesh, and also an exhibit

and a dream touched upon by

many and gouged. Stared at by 

someone somewhere, moulding other skin 

that’s worn like stone

cut up unaware and reassembled

to want to live and told to die

when the work is gone

to have a voice heard

and merely soundwaves

exposed to a blindness

staring into nothing

benefit of the doubt denied

to a life to dream about

but too young to even begin

and the camera is put away

and your body is paper