The boy over there,
What is his name.
Ragged he looks,
His clothes with the rips
And shreds of poverty.
His hair, dirty, yet light.
And his body strong yet beaten.
He has been dragged,
Torn, mangled, crushed.
His once proud smile is gone,
And nothing appears right.

His eyes though, his eyes.
Will hides beneath those eyes.
Strong, firm, unbeaten,
Those deep electric blue eyes,
Unfathomable in strength
The source of all
This boys hope.

The girl over there,
Who is she.
The one with riches,
Who look as if all is for her.
Spoiled, worthy, affluent.
Her clothes are breath-taking.
Her hair is long, looking blonde,
Then brunette in certain light.
A beautiful creature,
Certainly well off,
No cares but her own,
And all care of her.
She is in terms,
Beauty and a beast.

Though, through
Such an exterior,
One may see a good side,
A very slim one,
But it is still there.

The poor boy,
Was not always like this.
At a time he was nave
Young, foolish, quiet at times,
Very internal though.
Always keeping to himself.
And letting others to themselves,
Back when he was a better
Person of sorts.


No the boy was
Not always like this.
For two years prior he met the girl,
The beast and the beauty.
To him she was everything,
And he thought the same,
Vice versa.

But no
As time proved, the boy
Was nothing but a toy,
Nothing the girl cared for.
Nothing worth liking.
She played him,
For her own games.
Her own uses,
Until everything of him was spent,
And he is but the shell people see
Him as now.

For the girl,
She made him her own,
Creation.
She made him cocky, influential, important,
She made him to her liking.
She made him outspoken,
Persistent, patient, progressive.
Possibly personifying her pros.

He had become a tool.
The girl made him this way,
And whats worse,
He knew it.
He knew she affected him,
He knew her affect on him,
All for a simple chance,
at one thing,
the boy wanted.
Companionship, affection, devotion,
In simple terms,
Love.

But no,
No such thing occurred. The boy was used,
And through such selfish use was made a tool.
And through the tool,
Was spent his soul, his life,
His very meaning.
All that was important,
Was the girl,
Her happiness,
Her company,
Her love.

And so the boy became,
The bedraggled soul,
of which you see in the corner.
Outspoken, loud, obnoxious,
With no sense of humility.
And through such, he lost his identity.
All that remains of him now,
All that remains of his once true self,
Resides in those eyes,
Those eyes,
Those deep, electric blue eyes.
Shocking, vibrant, radiant,
Remarkable.

The Girl now,
Though selfish, and misguided,
And possibly the worst thing to affect
The boy in the corner,
Was not left unaffected in turn.
For though she did a monstrous thing,
And created a monster in-self,
One look into the eyes of this new creature,
And the slim side of good she has,
It grows,
For the last will of the once quiet boy affecs her.
She becomes realistic,
Secular, sensible, rational,
practical.


nd in so,
She knows and sees her creation,
And realizes though she herself does not,
That her creature was best before she made him.
The charade created of a better,
Boy now can not last,
As none but she is proud of it,
Non-think the boy better,
All think what turned him,
What-ever it may be,
Should have ceased in its efforts.

So in turn,
The boy was affected by the girl,
For the worse.
And the girl the boy,
For the better,
Yet it remains clear that the girl,
Still made out better.
As stated before,
A Beauty and a Beast.

...