No writing could ever explain,
No pencil could ever draw it out,
No bulb could ever bring to light
what I see when I look around.

Pretty green trees painted red,
Pure white doves dressed in black,
Somehow all the colors represent
what each object seems to lack.

There's darkness in every sun,
There's hatred in every hug,
There's expectation in every favor
And every favor fits too snug

How I look at myself outside of myself is much different
than what I see in my reflection.
Inside I feel *****,
Inside I feel ugly,
Inside I feel outside
of the world in which you want me to be.

Somehow now,
I've put in some thought,
Some insight.
And as much as it kills me to say this,
I understand that
no one can really understand
when one remark ***** their fists.

So I stay quiet
like a sheep,
like a mouse,
Like a scary, wild man's spouse,
Like a poet,
like a bear,
like all others
that really don't care.
Like my grandfather,
like my grandmother,
Like sweet, old Janine
from down the street's
little brother.
Like a mime,
Like a white man's crime,
Just like me,
They stay quiet like
the leaves on a tree