Understand this; they don’t care about you. To them, you are a marketing ploy, an enigma, a mystery, an ethereal creature to be gawped at through bars, a puzzle to be splashed across billboards and solved by the masses. You are the mirror for society, the reflection they want so desperately to see, perfection in the face of every flaw they display and yearn to cover up. You are selling lust, love, beauty, sex. The answer to every question they ever asked is hidden in your eyes, the replacement for a soul which was stolen away in thousands of pieces by countless camera lenses.
Look at me; you’re a doll to be played with, a marionette dancing to the pull of hundreds of strings. You are the face to blame, the lips to kiss, the smile to have. Your elegance is legendary. Walk down scarlet carpets, sip from crystal glasses. Drip with pearls and diamonds, feel the weight of them nestling in the crook of your neck.
Listen to me; will you sell? Is your image genuine enough for the campaign you’ve been pushed in to? Are you turning heads? Can you slip in to any skin, step in to any shoe, wear any mask? When does the younger, better version step out from behind the curtain?
Believe me; you are you, and you are nobody else. Take back the control you had when you started out. Re-invent yourself over and over because you want to, because you can, because even if ten minutes ago you were a different person you can decide to change that at any point and dear god, it’ll be spectacular. You were never an object to be played with until they dulled your eyes and doused the fire inside you. Take it back, baby, take it back, because as soon as you do you can burn this place to the ground and dance on the ashes.