A sore thumb on somebody that wears Their scars with pride.

But I’m not a scar.

I’ve always been told that my hair is a Lovely shade of brown, why dye it such An absurd color like auburn and create An inferno?

But the thing is that they don’t see the

Inferno in my brown eyes, or the Caramel that drizzles itself into my

Eyes as a direct blessing from the sun.

They don’t see that.
They only see a short girl, one of

Italian descent with a Spanish last name.

They only see a girl that lacks the paint Society hands out to beautify those Already beautiful.

They only see a girl that doesn’t get how She’s one in a million when she’s a Million put into one.

Originality is like a social plague that kills All that get even a glimpse, as the Toxicity is so high that people eventually Shy away from the obvious problems.

Everybody slowly becomes a carbon copy Of the same person duplicated 20 times Over to make a singular being—a society.
People are following the leaders, but Who are the leaders? Are they the Celebrities, the ones that set the trends For their oblivious followers to mirror, To mimic into their own lives?

Are we all just intricate machinery truly, Waiting for the next gear to fit into their Idealistic mindset, one void of all

Viruses people have dubbed as bad.

But how does one clean a hard drive of a Virus that’s never going to go away?

One that pops up at any moment, one that finds a way to make your life hell.

But I guess you can say I’m wise.

I guess that’s how I’m one in a million.