Oh, How I Wish To Be Her

She was young and beautiful,
The type to embrace the innocent,
Blue eyes, blond hair,
Steady like a model figure,
A coke bottle picture,
The sort you’d capture
somewhere up on the freeway,
The brand that would twist your neck
craving like an addict,
Wishing it was you, in that mini skirt
Envy, and she easily stimulates your senses,
A look of her, makes you imagine
and dream about the impossible,
She’d give you hope, and reasons to cope
with life and its fucked up obstacles,
The way she walks and talks, like a rock star,
She seems to understand your mind
when everyone gave up on you,
She makes you see the light
In a room, full of gloom and absence,
Oh, how I wish to be her,
Sinful but yet an angel in presence of me,
Criminal but yet innocently proven guilty,
Deceitful but yet exquisitely a true liar,
Beautiful, but yet repulsive in fire,
Oh, how she resembles the devil,
Oh, how I wish to be her.

[I want the readers to be aware of the precise stance of this poem. Some poems are abstract or nonfigurative; in this circumstance I’m wishing to be the devil, but there is a major message behind this specific concept. At times, you’re drawn to become something that your conscious is far from wanting to be; I’m not saying that you wish to be the devil, but at times you surely wish to be what he appears to be, and he misleads the innocent into becoming EVIL, by displaying EVIL to be cool and accepted.]

To sustain your own quality, you’d have to endure and tolerate your own value, and believes. Don’t let that be misled.