I float in blue, a borrowed pose,
the sun decides how much it glows.
Red halo hums against my skin,
a circle I keep folding in.
They told me, “shine, but not too loud,
be soft, be sweet, but make us proud.”
So here I drift, a careful thing,
a porcelain boy on a plastic ring.
The water cools, but I still burn,
for every gaze, I twist and turn.
A living doll, a fragile art,
a mirror trained to hide its heart.
I play my part, I smile, I preen,
the perfect frame for what’s unseen.
Yet in this hush of painted grace,
I feel the cracks beneath my face.
To sparkle’s just to come undone,
a war I fight beneath the sun.
Still, I float on—red shorts, closed eyes—
pretending I’m the dream they prize.
