It's clear so it
Must be clean
And we start to demean
Our sences.
Through the hype
And the gloss
Anything
And everything
Is not what it appears
To be.
It never looks like
What we should
Really see.
Ask yourself,
Is this really me?
A happiness that
Isn't real.
A face that you could peel.
Alone
Cut off
And unable to feel.
I can no longer
Find a way to deal
With all the sorrow and disease.
The hate and the lying.
And I'm trying
To get out.
But no one listens
To these shouts.
Everyday a new
Plastic cut out
Of what the
World
Wants to see.
We listen to what
Everyone tells us to be.
And even when you
Reach out to me
I can't leave
The box.
Dragged
Scraping against
The rocks.
Looking for anything
I could lock myself onto.
Wondering when
We'll come to
What it all will
Come to.
And maybe one
Day I'll break through
The impervious layer of
Impossibility.
And find the world
As it
Should be.

Michelle.