'Façade' 20 lashes of the soul marked by every taunt they spoke and tho they say that words don't kill there I lay all bruised and broke a crumpled mass of dread and doubt seething rage and hate and shame and bitterest of ironies - it was myself who held the blame 'what's wrong with me?' I did lament for this was surely punishment too much a nerd, a dork, a geek too big an outcast; too big a freak a blemish on their perfect world for which I secretly did long but I could not stop being me this thing that could not belong and so I forged myself a mask a sharpened wit and caustic grin with which I learned to block their barbs became a force of reckoning no longer cowering in fear I know full well just who I am and if you still don't like me now then to hell with you, and your world be damned