THE UGLY DUCKLING

Written at that speech party on schofield with the minigolf behind. Whomever had gotten me to go had abandoned me and I spent some of the time (later I think) in the party talking to one of their friends who'd been taken there and abandoned also, I nearly asked that girl out. Probably a good thing I didn't, odds are she wasn't right for me. But... she was a nice enough person that it was tempting to want to try going out with her.
The people drive by                    
the people go on                       
the ugly duckling waits                
and dreams of the swan.                
The sheeps walk by                     
they migrate on.                       
There go the deer,                     
there goes the swan.                   
They migrate by ones                   
they migrate by twos                   
they migrate by hooves                 
they migrate by shoes.                 
I pull up my pants                     
I tighten my belt                      
I stare at them leaving,               
same as I've always felt.              
                                       
The guitar strums                      
the music sings                        
the air-con hums                       
and the silence rings.                 
The waves of loneliness                
invert on themselves-                  
the memories falling,                  
knocked off their shelves.             
Fallin in puddles-                     
puddles of tears, puddles of blood,    
puddles of loneliness, puddles of love.
                                       
There goes the swan,                   
there go the geese,                    
here sits the duckling,                
dreaming 'neath trees.                 
Lying in shadows                       
but flying in skies                    
hoping for love                        
hoping for surprise.                   
But it always knew,                    
as it should,                          
that to be loved...                    
it never would.                        
And so it sits-                        
sits in the smoke,                     
sits in the stench,                    
sits as it chokes.                    
Starving for love                      
suffocating without                    
simply it's suck                       
a flailing trout.                      
So it suffers;                         
so it grieves                          
until misery ends                      
when its life leaves.                  

Copyright © 1999 Ashi Shadow