A/N: This is the second poem in the "Wicked Rhymes" category! This time, it's Elphaba's point of view (you could probably figure that out on your own!), and it doesn't rhyme. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Forgot this last time...unfortunately, I'm not that girl.
"The Truth"
Everyone says I'm atrocious.
An artichoke.
But they don't know the real me.
They say I'm too smart for my own good.
A teacher's pet.
But they can't see inside my heart.
They call me un-cool.
An outcast.
But their vision of cool is limited.
They say I am wicked.
A witch.
But they only asked certain people.
They call my sister evil.
And kill her.
But they have suffered unrequited love, too.
They throw water on me.
And try to kill me.
But water is cleansing.
They do not mourn me.
And rejoice.
But some know the truth.
A blonde-haired, pink clad Good Witch sits
Unhappily thumbing through a spellbook.
She knows the truth.
She is part of the story.
An outrageously dressed pretender broods
In a dark cell below ground.
She knows the truth.
And is part of the story.
A defeated old man stands
In a balloon high above his home country
He knows the truth.
And is part of the story.
And a scarecrow stands
Faithfully beside his love
He knows and lives the truth
And is part of the story.
A/N: Review!!!!