1

Fair is foul and foul is fair; hover through the fog and filthy air

William Shakespeare

The person I’ve become is not the person that I dreamt I would be

I look in the mirror, and can’t stand the face staring back at me

Too round in some places, discolored in most,

My hair isn’t right, got nothing to boast.

Wish I could change a million things about the way I am

Everybody feels it, but nobody gives a damn

There’s millions hurting deeper than the wells of my dreams

Can’t get past the way the world looks, or the way it seems.

Painful memories tug at the corners of my eyes

And even more painful are the strings of bad lies

Making me old, turning me grey

But I guess that for ‘beauty’, is the price you have to pay

I just wish I could reconcile the feelings that I have

but every one must choose to walk a different path

Cause the person that I am is not the person that I dreamt I would be.

I look in the mirror, but cant stand what looks back at me

For i have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

William Shakespeare

Pretty things,

Butterflies, flowers, angels wings.

The dew on the petal, the hill by the sea,

Anything and everything, but I guess that’s not me

There’s pretty faces all over the news,

All kinds of packages, Christians, Atheists, Jews

Never the same as the one that came before

What does the world have in store?

They line them up, down the street to be seen

The prettiest faces, lank, strait and lean

Blue eyes, thick lips, ready to kiss

They strut their stuff in their bile and piss

Not so pretty when you zoom out, take a look

Its like opening hell up, or a holocaust book

Mangled and twisted, posed in their heads,

They all go to sleep alone in their beds

I want to be different, less pretty I suppose

But different still, not lined up in rows

I tell my self over and over its true,

But most of all, I just want to be you

The ring so worn as you behold, so thin , so pale, is yet of gold

George Crabbe