What They Want.

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.