There are times where I’m not myself.
I walk and stroll the passerby’s
With foreign eyes
To see if they can tell.
I am a lie of omission.
Not quite the truth.
A bit of a straight arrow,
With flavorings of the uncouth.
I’m not healthy for you,  
(nor would I want to be.)
I am unattainable,
I am fiction,
I am fable.