Once you were invisible, never seen or heard. Like a ghost, you roamed streets searching for the identity you never did have. Love was but a dream and fitting in, a nightmare.
So you fabricated a world and crowned yourself queen, but of course who else could possibly have ruled your world. You built your identity from fantasies and dreams. Your treasures were the best of diamonds and pearls, everything that sparkled and glittered you owned.
You had all you wanted but nothing you needed. Although it took a while, you found out the intangible could not be procured, even with the purest of gold.
So you settled for a counterfeit, opening your world for strangers to tour. And so it began, your search for love. The tourists did come and marvel they did.
And now, it never ends your desire for fame. The numbers fluctuate constantly, like an oscillating pendulum, capturing your attention over and over again. The faces, the hearts, the thumbs up and LOLs somehow have become a part of your reflection.
So you twist and turn and tug and pull, trying so hard to satisfy your tourists’ demands. Time and time again you pour out yourself trying to fit your tourists’ ever-changing mold. Lips full, eyes big, hair as thick as mane only then do the numbers grow.
As a coronated queen, your fame spreads to worlds unknown, far and wide it reaches, till an icon you become. But those who acknowledge you as queen want nothing but perfection and perfection they must have. That they may see in you all they want for themselves. Their expectations do increase as does your ability to keep them in awe, but soon you’ll be lost in your fantasy land.
But your hunger for fame can’t be satiated. You live off the praise like the drug you can’t do without. You’ve built your castle in the clouds and the storm threatens to pour.
But your worth has been linked to numbers on a page. Another queen will be born and soon you’ll be gone. But only then would you know that numbers do lie.