I'm not as pretty,
As the girls you often see.
They wear clothes beautifully,
They don't slouch their back like me.

You may say stuff to make me waver,
Like, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”,
I was young but now I'm older,
And knew you've never looked at me past your shoulder.

Not your fault you weren't attracted.
Least is I know where I stand, corrected,
Back to where I was before, redacted,
My acts and my soul fractured.

Just a little bit of life is fine,
I believed we all shall grew like a fine-wine.
Though the one thrashed on the floor could be mine
Was it not enough of me to just be kind?

Oh I know a lot more I needed to be.
Hell indeed I wished all of those were me.
Although I still prayed for you to just see
Past this meat that would burn at the slightest heat.

Aren't we all skeletons praying for another soul,
To take us for what we are and what we behold,
But society sells what most couldn't hold,
This is me and many more, just beyond the threshold.

All these imageries of seeking a connection,
Are bound to create a distinctive reflection,
Of love and lust and of similar passion,
And/or to quench our personal satisfaction.

Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if that,
Everyone skipped all the chitchat,
Get married just like a diplomat,
Or found themselves their own kittycat.

You know, I'm not as pretty,
As the girls you often see.
This is my world, it is running rampantly,
And with that, even I wouldn't want me.
/
And with that, would you still want me?

© Zei