She notices what they wear, or the bag those good-looking strangers carry,
But when it comes to who I am, she will just not see.
Why won't I be like these ideal women, doting, serving, homely and quite shy,
Why do I bother donning my wings, when I should sit at home and dream of the day I'll fly.
The smile on my face, or the glitter in my eyes that he loved so,
Will forever be shadowed by my repulsive color, oh look at that crow!
She'd never know what I wanted to be, doesn't want to find out, will never try,
But will always note how wrong my hair looks, why won't I just grow it, oh why!?
While I may be what the world loves and finds fun to be around,
I will remain the woman who can't bake that pie crisp and round.
I will never be half of what she needs, though I'm twice of what I'd thought I'd be.
I will remain those orchids she finds ugly, while weed that she loves is all she will ever need.
She isn't even the most gifted creature ever made, not even close,
But what I may lack, will forever be what she sees, even if over us, hell froze.
Got there finally, but took me long enough, to see.
She saw nothing of what I was, but only how little of her I would ever be.
I took it down and tucked it in carefully, I was the fool holding up a dreamcatcher, to her blind eye.
