Misjudged

Misjudged

No one knows me

Like they say they do.

They think they have touched

Their lighted fingers on my soul

But they are mistaken.

They know nothing of me,

Nothing of the person I am.

They only know the outside:

"Lookie there, look at those legs,

Hot stuff, wooooowieee!

That's some fine piece of ass right there."

That's not me, though.

I am not the grace that was

Bestowed upon me,

I am the wanton one,

The lonely girl,

The one that has to live up to

No name standards

That the pressing men of life make.

As they force me down the

Miss America runway of my life,

Leading me on a leash

Like a bad dog,

A bad little bitch puppy,

I never know my own thoughts,

I never have my own dreams,

Just the predestined ones

That were made for me.

I wonder sometimes,

I wonder that if God had

Cut me off from his grace

And left me an unfinished car

If I would be as loved,

As wanted but I know that

Society is superficial and

Life is a beauty contest.