It's funny seeing us all turn into the same person,
The same taste in music,
The same fashion sense,
The same events attract us,
The same mediums refract us,
Our skin is inked with the same tattoo over and over and over again,
Our hair is clipped to flow in the same wave that each ocean moves,
Our voices all make the same noise because we all say the same thing,
Our camera lenses are always pointed in the same direction and we all take the same photo over and over and over again,
We all feel the same high because we all use the same drugs,
We all have the same house, the same car, and the same salary only because we all have the same jobs,
We all like the same people because we are all the same,
There are no rebellious truants because we all rebel In the same way,
Our hair is but one shade one pigment,
That compliments the same shirt, the same make-up that we all wear,
We all wear the same sizes and have the same bodies because we all eat the same thing,
We all make the same jokes because we all watch the same shows.

Deafened by a similar silence,
We reach for peace through violence,
Similarly hurting one another while similarly trying to heal our brother,
All carbon-copies of an image displayed and projected from the Great Wall of China to The Grand Canyon,
And it's probably because we are all the same species
No need for discrimination because we are all the same, pathetic animal,
Grooving to the same funky tune,
In the same sunny meadow,
We are all one herd of buffalo,
One congress of baboons,
One flamboyance of flamingos,
One army of caterpillars,
One tower of giraffes,
One school of fish,
One heart,
And one
One love....

But maybe
Just maybe
If we all are part of one love,
Then that means we unify to create only one part of a relationship,
One half of a house,
And only one side of the family....

It's as if
Uniting and grouping closer together,
It just makes us crumble apart..

Hour-glass figure, high heels emphasizing curves while sunglasses cover up her true beauty
Eyes that have been clawed by the talons of pain
Restraining herself from exposing too much of her smile when she's forever caged in by a picture frame
The cold world striking violent winds against her but she continues on hoping to be seen as just another copy
Fearing originality for it's then that society will never treat her the same
And then beauty will be stripped away, exposure will bring her closer to change and this variation of pigments will turn to another face,
just another beautiful face
in a sea full of ugly souls that take pride in destroying girls true beauty
Magazine covers imprinted with this figure shaped by the industry to something appealing to the bigger picture
Even if her beauty was only seen by some

Make-up masks
that turn her soul black
insecure her posture bends
while all she ever hears are compliments
it will never cover up the tension
not feeling beautiful, she turns dull
on the path to prescription pills
her sorrow builds
And she finally becomes just another piece of crumbled up paper
In the trash can of society's basement

I want a car!
I want one so badly!
I want a car! I want a car...

So I can drive off into the dying sunset,
and view the horizon swallow it whole,
just like you swallow my soul,
with your beautifully colorful lips.

Self-respect, Self-esteem,
A body,
Sparkling red, ruby love for traveling to new and broader sides of the world,
A pair of lips,
A heart that can tremble when sad, and vibrate with joy when she feels my hands in hers,
Some eyes,
A pretty ******* **** interest in books
Legs, arms or what not,
A round, firm belief system that can open up if support presents itself,
Clothes..or not what do I care?,
An untraceable amount of empathy, that is quilted with smaller amounts of self-interest and a hankering for affection that is not masked and hidden by make-up and trendy fashion,
Hair, long or short, or none...,
A sense of pride when she walks and this somewhat cynical view on how the world works, because she believes that the complex life we live in cannot be generalized to the point that government can regulate it,
A tongue, that can swivel and turn just so she can speak, nothing else, speak her mind, speak her thoughts, but she can never speak enough...
Ears, or an ear, or none because I doubt I'll be talking over her,
A never-ending need to be herself, and the knowing that she is beautiful, beautiful enough to be able to "look like she just woke up", beautiful enough to not need me,
But most importantly beautiful enough to be totally invisible...

This loving it is lonely,
A deep remorse towers over me,
After every kiss and hug I give,
And I crumble to the floor.

This loneliness is loving,
As I see no one around me,
You seem to come from behind,
And make me feel fine.