Beneath the Old Willow

Where the bullied become the bullies

Running through my memories,
Pass beyond the broken dreams,
Perception is reality,
Nothing's ever as it seems.

I remember much like yesterday,
Though several years ago,
Alone, I'd watch the children play,
From 'neath the old willow.

"Freak!" They'd yell, when I'd come near,
And other hurtful names,
Knock me down, and pull my hair,
I did not like these games.

I learned to live the world alone,
To be my only friend,
This hatred turned my heart to stone,
Forever on the mend.

I hemmed a mask with laughter,
My sarcasm, an art,
To find my happily ever after,
I'd have to leave the dark.

So venture now, into the light,
To test my brand new guise,
Beauty spilled upon my sight,
Tears poured out from my eyes.

Accepted is the once lone freak,
The ego starts to grow,
He begins to feed upon the weak,
Beneath the old willow.

Reality is nothing,
If perception ain't what it seems,
when passing through the memories,
Run through your broken dreams.