I was tortured when I was a kid,
Because they told me to man up instead of being like this, so I did.
There comes the speculations of my sexuality,
Which made me question if I owed them my identity.
Now that I'm a teen,
With two years left to being eighteen.
I was now releasing all of the pain,
Discovered that I was poetic through the rain.
Rain of insecurities that kept pouring onto me,
Which made me wonder if I'm gonna be free?
Free from all those shitty lies that they told me.
I know someoday that I'll be working on some department,
Hopefully I can afford an apartment.
An apartment where I can be myself within the walls that shelters me.
There's nothing left to say,
But I know for a fact that someday.
I'll call myself as a "Tortured Poetic Human That Works on a Department"
