I see an old lady, with pieces fitting like puzzles

Different materials pieced together like glue

I see a creative lady with energy that glew

Materialistic items and newspaper titles

To someone else this could be they’re idol

Every clipping tells a story

You can see every tale in her eyes, her glory

Her beauty shot out of the page like a rocket

As fast as one's eye can savor

But one bad thing about it, her beauty is as thin as paper

But can we tell if it's real?

Maybe I made it up?

Cognitive realities can be realities one’s mind has made up

I could be lying a lot, not at all, or just a smudge

Well that just leaves you to be the judge.