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When unsheathed, the polished blade catches light.
The hand made steel shines; the temper line shows
Like a white frost left from a cold, cold night.
"Perfect," everyone who looks at it knows.
The blade gently curves from the hilt to tip.
The cutting edge follows from start to end.
And a blood groove allows for flow and drip,
Of remaining blood from the victims end.
What a flawless sword, the katana is,
Invincible is he who makes it his.
You are so nice,
you're smile so inviting.
Your voice is so sweet,
I find it most exciting.
But you could have any guy.
They all try to woo you.
All except for I,
because I don't deserve you.
So, alas, here I am,
I can't tell you how I feel.
I'm such a loser.
To you, I'll never be real.
People tell me what to do,
but I never pay attention.
Like a bird I fly
away from there apprehension.
Then, others want me to join there team,
to give them an advantage.
I just laugh in their faces,
and maybe quote some old adage.
So, that's what I am,
I'm a nonconformist.
And that's all I want to be,
just a nonconformist.
It struck me, I don't have a lot of real friends.
I have many a casual friend at school.
Yet, they don't know me very well at all.
It's a fact, they just don't seem to care.
Maybe because I'm Filipino.
Maybe because I'm good with a sax.
Maybe I'm acting like some sort of snob.
Or maybe because I'm just a loser.