You aren’t worthy of the label “fake”.
For you aren’t so easily deemed as this,
But rather counterfeit.
For you are so close to the original,
That only unfamiliar eyes wouldn’t be able to spot the difference between your two distinct faces.
You are real to the ones who do not know.
The ones who don’t know about the unnecessary, stagnant wars.
The labels we have all received,
Like a price tag stuck on a wrapped up pound of meat.
For that’s how it seems.
Like we are only meat,
Given a price based on your evaluations of our perceived worth.
But if we are really just meat to you,
We are rotting.
But you will never deteriorate,
For you are made of plastic.
A necklace coated with gold,
But silently laced with hatred.
The shiny, bright counterfeit qualities attract the unknowing.
While your vile soul repels the seeing eyes.
Your words are twisted into roses,
While the ones who truly see are vividly aware of the sharp thorns.
When I’m finally allowed to speak my mind to you,
I should say that you are nothing more than counterfeit plastic pieces
Glued together with excuses.
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