Plastic
Its the ones we see whose lives and looks are so drastic.
The ones who tell you your cute and are being sarcastic.
They live the lives of the rich and fantastic.
These are the ones I call plastic.
They are hollow inside like a plastic ball.
The ones who look like the Ken and Barbie doll.
When I see them my skin begins to crawl.
Then I remind Barbie she just ate and needs to visit the stall.
They can have that life and I'll take mine and won't even ask why.
I don't look down on people when they make a mistake and sigh.
I'm grateful for what I have, and I'm glad I have to try.
At least I know a person sees me when they look me in the eye.
I could never stand the kids who were handed everything.
They always had the nicest cars and clothes and walked around like a king.
The ones who made the pretty girls cry after they told them they were just a fling.
And how their parents got them out of trouble when their rears were in a sling.
But you know what, now I'm alright with it.
I'm proud of what I have, because I earned that little bit.
And I know when the going get tough, they'll just quit.
And I know that I will never be the shine in their spit.
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