They have long ceased to be me.

Self portrait as an object of thought

Yes, I am
pretty, but only because you say so. I may be
fat instead, but why should it be either? I am

this, and that. I am next door and moons away.
I have hair like that one off the telly, I am mean
with my smiles, but only for you. I am a tease,
half-dressed, on my way, at the end of a long

long night. I am good at it, but rubbish
at what I should be doing. And now I am changed,
but how would you know

from over there?