Ruminate on an Expose

Perfect.  That's it, flash it.  *ting* Brighten it up!  Make it yours!  That smile, those teeth.  How long did you spend on your hair this morning...an hour?  Oh, just 45 minutes.  That's good.  Life's all good.  Everything you want...it's yours.  You need...well, no.  You don't need.  You don't ever need.  Not that anyone can see, you don't need.  Girls like you have no needs.  Only wants.  Because all needs are catered, like a sumptuous banquet.  Pick pick pick, never really tasting anything.  Only taking it because it's there.  You aren't really hungry, are you?  Nah.  Not truly hungry.  Life is waiting for you, like usual.  All you must do is slip into it, tighten your belt and glide on through.  Slip slide glide, floating through in a peaceful current.  But that gets a little boring, eh?  Gliding.  Carried through.  Never needing, never hungering.  Your insides are never hungry because they aren't there.  Only shells.  Plastic, molded shells of empty passionless chill.  You've been so catered, so cared for, you've never worked.  You've never earned, never learned.  Not true, not chill.  Yours is the true, empty, unsatable hunger because only you know it.  Only you have it, but you never allow it to break your facade of priceless, plastic beauty life.  That would be weak, that would be less, that would be degrading.  You are too worthy for that, for showing weakness and need.  This is where I drop my own facade.  This is where I drop the saccharine packet to the checkered tiles and spit in its powdery, fake sweetness.  I spit on you, on your perfection.  Life is not a catered banquet.  Real, true, out and on life is a hunting and gathering party.  You hunt, you earn, you learn, you gather when you can.  Feast and famine.  I reject your notion of worthy and worth.  I know what you're thinking.  I know what swims in the poisoned recesses.  I know I am examined and found wanting.  I'll tell you, though.  My life is beautiful.  My life is worthy.  I work, I earn, I learn, I break and sweat, blood and tears.  Shined drops of joy and pain, love and heartache, accomplishment and rejection.  I will never look to you for your approval, for your worthy vote of "yes, my child".  I will never devote another silvery tear from eye or heart to the loss of your endorsement.  Matter of fact, I will throw such approbation, unworthy to me any longer, to the floor and grind it under my heel with the shattered packet of the lost sweetener I so discarded previously.  You think you have it all.  You don't have it all, because I do.  The freedom to reject and accept at will.  Freedom is what you lack.  The freedom of life that brings true life.  No longer, no more.  No more.