and sometimeswhen I look at myself in the mirror,I smileI do think that I will be successful.I believe I am beautiful.I feel confident,proud, and most of all,happy.but that's only sometimes.
I never realisedThe smirk you hadWhen you were with meI never realisedThat little dimpleOn your cheekI never realisedHow your eyes turned from blue to greyWhen you were sadI never realisedThat only happened when you were with me.I never realisedI caused you so muchPainI never realisedHow bad you've gotten.
Have you ever had an urgeTo do somethingYou know is badBut you do it anyways?It's like cutting your hairKissing a boyEating a cookieBreaking a toy.Or her falling for youAfter everyone told her not to.Of course the girl in love never listensNow she's in her room and her cheeks glisten.But at least she was happyFor the time you played herNow she's drinking away the pain"I love you" she slurs.
Dreaming of the dayWhen I could be meAnd you could be you.I'd love myselfAnd be happy too.My wrists would be clearAnd so would my mind.You would start eatingAs you used too,And maybe your under eyesWouldn't be so blue.But until that day comesWhen we're hand in handI'll be dreaming of a placeCalled Neverland.
These tiny loiterers on the barley's beard,And happy units of a numerous herdOf playfellows, the laughing Summer brings,Mocking the sunshine in their glittering wings,How merrily they creep, and run, and fly!No kin they bear to labour's drudgery,Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge-rose;And where they fly for dinner no one knows--The dew-drops feed them not--they love the shineOf noon, whose sun may bring them golden wine.All day they're playing in their Sunday dress--Till night goes sleep, and they can do no less;Then, to the heath bell's silken hood they fly,And like to princes in their slumbers lie,
The dancing girls here . . . after a long night ofit ...The long beautiful night of the wind and rain in April,The long night hanging down from the droopingbranches of the top of a birch tree,Swinging, swaying, to the wind for a partner, to therain for a partner.What is the humming, swishing thing they sing inthe morning now?The rain, the wind, the swishing whispers of the longslim curve so little and so dark on the westernmorning sky . . . these dancing girls here on anApril early morning . . .They have had a long cool beautiful night of it withtheir partners learning this year's song of April.
Follow a shadow, it still flies you;Seem to fly it, it will pursue:So court a mistress, she denies you;Let her alone, she will court you.Say, are not women truly thenStyled but the shadows of us men?At morn and even shades are longest,At noon they are or short or none;So men at weakest, they are strongest,But grant us perfect, they're not known.Say, are not women truly thenStyled but the shadows of us men?