Seven Out of Nine
Maybe if I shoved
my fingers
down
my throat,
starved myself into the ship's infirmary,
photoshopped my face to a matt effect,
associated with CGI creatures,
wore spandex suits with silver occular vision implants
and died my hair that
oh-so-desired blonde,
came back to you from light years away.
Maybe then
I would be that alien object
that you desire
in testosterone topped grunting conventions.
Maybe.
*The title is based on a character from star trek: Seven of Nine, as is the poem
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