She's filled with treats you never saw.
Candies she made up herself, she's
thought up names and wrappings for
- surprises, toys, who knows what else?
But she does not respond to whacks.
The whole world takes its blindfold swings,
Innumerable hits! Dead on! She shrugs
them off, those dreadful things. She isn't
here as party trick. She's trying just
to hang around. What's in her
is for her to give, not you
to break.
Her bright papier-mâché begins
to stay the same. She smiles,
perfectly unfaked. She frowns,
serene. As unaffected as a queen.
She takes no bows. "So what, should I
just bust right now? Shower yourself
with me, because you try and miss?
Or direct hit? Please keep on swinging,
question-boy and little implication miss.
I do not have rewards for this.
For I am not
a toy." Besides,
She's pretty sure inside her
are confections packed with cyanide.
Only a few, but still. It's no one's
business. That's for her to show
or hide.
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