pick up the pieces. . .

to my puzzle, everyone.
because i don't think anyone could put me together correctly,
in the right order.
they can't smooth my edges, they're jagged just like the edges that surround my body.
no one can influence me to change my ways.
no one can ever tell me what to do with the picture i make when someone puts me together.
it can be in color, black and white, or even bright as the sun.
because all i want to do is blind you.
i want to make your eyes hurt from looking at me,
i want to be the worlds luckiest contestant in a staring contest,
and i want to be the winner.
you can do anything you want to me,
because this puzzle is a canvas.
you can splatter on me,
rip me,
spit on me,
stomp on me,
throw mud on me,
or even throw up apple juice on me.
but whatever you do, i can take it. . .
i can take all you can give.
i can be dressed,
or naked.
you can dress me in fishnets,
or my bare naked legs.
because i won't walk anywhere.
you're dressing me for no reason.
cover me in a blanket,
because you have to wait 6 months for this paint to dry.
pick up my pieces,
because this puzzle is. . .
impossible.