I've got about four kevlar threads in my knee,
But they're not all that's artificial in me,
Whether feigning a smile (I do that every day)
Or talking to strangers when I could walk away,
An affection for someone that's affected indeed
Inventing her self from desire and need,
and my clumsy attempts at all friendship's conventions,
Oft based less on connection and more on invention.
All those, and my intelligence, all my attractive qualities
Are little more than acting class, than a hobby, not me.
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