From the surface
I can see that you are pretty.
But what eludes me,
is the transparent-ness of your beauty.
I can't take hold of that exquisiteness
that everybody seems to see.
For them, it's thicker than everything else,
and far deeper than any deep-blue sea.
Why aren't you reflected back to me?
Why don't i feel the same?
Why does it bother me that I can't see you?
Why can't I see what other people claim?
Your stunning shell of a body
is nothing more than a hollow hype.
You use it and sell it well anyway,
for the affirmation of your life.
I see those sad and lonely eyes,
begging for a soul to come through.
To get past your grotesque beauty,
and bear witness to the inner you.
So why aren't you reflected back to me?
How come i don't see you as that bonnie dame?
If I don't see you, why do I let it bother me?
How come I can't see what other people claim?
I'd like to share with you words,
when everybody else gives you touch.
Allow me to pique your mind,
without, at all, flirting too much.
Maybe you'll finally get reflected back to me
and I'll fall in-love to just your very name.
I'll eventually get to see the real you,
and you'll finally get to bear yourself naked, without any hidden shame.
