The Window

The perpetual war,

Of the world outside.

And our inside haven,

Where I frequently abide.

The barrier of glass,

For some it's a barrier from fun.

But just as easily for others,

It can be a protector from the gun.

The gun of ridicule and shame,

Pointing at my looks.

They think it's a fun game,

To use their right hooks.

But as little,

As their puny brains can know.

I'm in my sanctuary,

Behind that tiny north side window.

Sometimes I look to the oak,

That stands just outside.

A branch comes up next to,

The direct right side.

Sometimes when it's hot,

I crawl out the little hole.

To sit on the sturdy branch,

And text my friend Cole.

Sometimes,

You come up here.

And tap the screen,

Gently so I barely hear.

Although this story,

May not be personal experience.

I know what it feels like,

To not be a Prince.

For that tiny little window,

Is much more than a hole in my wall.

It protects me,

From all the bullies in the mall.

We look like ourselves,

Nobody and no body is perfect.

Every body is beautiful,

We shouldn't be in a sect.

So the media,

Can go screw themselves.

With all their size zero Photoshop,

And six pack males.

Don't they see,

What exactly they do?

Young kids that see it,

That's what they think as normal

So now they have,

A genetically improbable goal.

From skipping meals,

To being scared of a mole.

Because individualism,

Is wrong and scary. 

For Hollywood wants barbies,

Named Susan or Mary.

So the unreal expectations,

Need to stop.

And TLC, 

Can be used as a mop.

For everyone deserves,

To be loved and cared for.

Not because of body type,

But for personality and more.

No one should be uncomfortable,

With how they look.

For you don't need to like the cover,

To love the book.