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I wonder why they unnoticed the real me.
The every curls I own which they adore the most. Could drive them insane.
The original brunette of my hair bounces like a ball when I run. The thick henced fur as my eyelashes that is excuisite when it is dripping.
The sparkle of million stars inside my dark brown iris could turn into light one when the sun shines through.
The sponge of muscle in my nose tip causes them rejoice. The smooth cotton built as my lips like a fantasy lullaby to their sleep when they lean theirs against it.
The long dotted neck of mine would be their favourite view. The pointy slender fingers attached to my hands make them lost their mind when I caress them.
Perhaps they blinded of, Or perhaps they scared of, Or perhaps they irritated of.
The beast inside of me struggles, The monster inside of me races, The wolve inside of me growls, Finally show itself to others.
For them,
The curls of mine are common. The original brunette looks fake. The thick fur slowly drop within sin. The million stars erase the sparkle. The sun feels disgust to shine. The sponge already hard. The cotton already vanished. The dotted neck is gross. The fingers felt nothing.
They did not see them. They will never see them. Not to mention appreciate them. Never ever.
