If only I were courageous and carefree,
so I’m completely free to be me.
If only I were funny and thin,
with a waistline free of sweet sin.
If only I were pretty and tall,
so I could be the belle of the ball.
But, then… I wouldn’t be me at all.
I’d be nothing but a fool.
A meaningless mould,
made multiple times.
Leaving me hollow inside
because the real me died.