I try to fit in with the others.
I really, honestly do.
But even my friends turn on me,
There's nobody I can run to.
It's not something I have chosen,
It's not something I decide.
But you continue to harass me,
and then wonder why I hide?
My own friends make rude comments,
Snickering smartly behind my back.
Just to fit in with the others,
Individualism they all lack.
So, yes, I have pale skin.
It's not something that I can change.
But yet you all stare in horror,
Wondering why I am so strange.
It's not like I don't try at all.
I've tried miserably to get a tan.
But it never works despite my efforts,
I guess I don't live up to your plan.
I'm sick of people constantly commenting,
That I should go out into the sun.
That I'm transparent against white walls,
They do this all for fun.
I really see no amusement in this,
Why they put me down for my skin.
But then they come crying to me,
When somebody says they aren't thin.
So they constantly nag about my color,
And then want me to care about their looks?
And then they wonder why instead of hanging out,
I prefer to drench myself in my books.
I'm sick of being picked on,
I wish they'd all just cut the crap.
'Cause soon something will happen to them,
And they'll be the ones caught in the trap.
