Pounding feet,
Pounding head,
Running.
From everything I use to know,
No longer do I know who I am.
What I am.
What am I?
What they tell me?
In blissful ignorance,
Or a shame?
Both ugly and a disgrace
While being beautiful.
Beauty?
The cover of a magazine,
Something that makes people think more of the
Risqué
Than the lovely.