Sarcasm as a defence mechanism.
Sarcasm is that 'tool' which cuts off the arguments where perhaps you may land,
An excuse to cover up the real face,
A shield for you to hide behind like a coward, giving way to your daft claims
But objectively, not a licit written law, that permits you to mock at a slender, fragile body, with a difference of the materialistic lens.
Look, I wouldn't shift the entire blame on my parents for the colour I've imbibed from them,
I wouldn't fuss for the short, tiny fingers that wouldn't develop any way,
I wouldn't rant over the voice which resembles to a man's when the throat's clogged or I miserably sing,
Neither towards the structure of my face where the round cheeks take the credit in that one cute image.
I would raise my finger towards those apathetic creatures, who've laid down a different meaning of asthetics,
the beauty that pulls the strings of someone's heart, or sets it on fire,
The way a man gazes at a women with lust drooling out from his eyes or the face white as snow, with a stone cold heart, and a body impassive.
Appearances are deceptive, I learned, but why do they still shower affection and love on the chalk powered face, with skepticism?