I'm standing here under a sky skraper,

with

my

heart beating furiously,

in

my

chest

reminding me with each,

tha-thump that I'm alive and still kicking under all of my

shiny fake,

hair,

nails,

jewelry,

and contacts.

That I'm a physical scientific

wonder

all my own and that the

Stock-market

Jesus

was wrong about my needing to buy those six inch heels that are on my

aching

feet.

He was

wrong,

about me needing the McDonalds that sits so heavily in my stomach.

And as I gaze up at this statue,

this monument to materialism,

I strip

off

all

the

shit,

holding me down.