The Role Of A Siren. Poem by Kim Dang

Jaded, like a washing machine on its nth cycle.
I'm looking to be rusted, but not really.
And I'll feel like there are more than one complementary pairing,
like purine.
But I'm read like a magazine.

The problem with no problem is,
I'll keep being porcelain,
I'll keep your trust in me.
I'm just discovering how thin of a line relates to knowing.
To walk on tight ropes, it's a balancing act of conversations.

Dangerously close, I'm pushing the envelopes at its seams.
I'm floating on a kayak waiting for the shark to sink its teeth in.
I'm drifting.
But who am I to concoct these fantasies of independence?
Reprimand me for even considering to mess around with this good thing.

It's my bachelorhood's party without getting downright naughty
I'm dressed in pig tails and high stockings, regardless.
I'm soaked in chocolate, regardless, and they'll lick me.
But even with a sample, I'm ample to scream its unworthy.
I'm being so rude, it's so crude and I'm sorry.

Who am I to say you love me?
To retain this untainted innocence, it's breaking.
Its truth is the only thing I know to be defining,
so I'll stifle the cracking.
Interactions are perceived as increasingly difficult,
just from how much I know,
I'm not the norm, aren't I? I'm quite a freak show.

It's within my grasp to focus the other way,
My life changes with adjustments in weights and suddenly,
I'm given the role of a siren.
I know my virtues, but it's getting harder to stay silent.