Re-cycled.

I wish I was cool, hip and sway; I wish I had the understated pride and the ability to make others feel chilled after encountering my air-conditioned allure. But I am neither of these things and am in fact that gawky girl who would prevent you from getting that cherry to complete your otherwise perfect ice cream sundae. The strangest things happen to me, like getting my foot stuck on one of those black sticky mouse traps in someone else' basement, and light conversation has most definitely deprived me of its art and skill. I bypass those pockets of opportunities and take chances when instinctive moments have long since been concluded. So...
I am a re-cycled me, a broken machine with odd, angular extensions and version five point one's. I have bandages camouflaging past blunders with new baby flesh, and on my face one will find that it has been creased with a lopsided grin shaped by a mixture of suppressed metal bars and an eager spirit awaiting for the day freedom will come. And now I am putting this strip of knowledge into your hands. It is really up to you to see if you can picture this disjointed, emotionally colorful and patched up me because, just because, I have laid out all the tricks and miseries before you, and this is who I think I really am.