Where Are My Words?

distortion

I don't belong
in this wicked reality
I call home or family.
I used to run and play.
My child-like ways holding the inability to be contained.
But as a child your sense of reality becomes a distortion
of what they once called a sense of imagination.
As you grow older, your imagination fades.
The boxes you pictured as rockets start to lose their color.
Melting, dripping into cardboard puddles as teenage years rain and pour.

A vile distortion
in which a human being can't be accepted
because they live and believe differently than others.
One where a teenager is treated like a child
and then expected to make sudden life changing decisions.
A strange twist
that gives adults the right
to mistreat and rudely judge the aspects of their children
then demand to be respected.
A warped image
where a child can't wait to grow up,
but when they grow, they wish they were younger again.

It's bewildering how the room I once escaped from for hours
has became a place I escape to for hours.
An example of a panic room to a panophobic.
It's overwhelming that I have to act happy if I want to be appreciated.
Having to hide away emotions and scars
because if they find it
I'll just be an attention seeking girl.
Because when you change you aren't accepted like the human you used to be.
You've become a beast in which the world has ignored
for you do not match society's invisible standards.

I don't belong
because I do not meet those standards.
I am sad and have emotion
and it's better to feel than to act like I'm happy.
Why pretend?
Would a human being rather be told lies?
You have to conform to a robotic social pattern.
Everyone is the same;
since it is unacceptable to be a sunflower in a field of daisies.
Why must we
follow the restrictions of a corrupted society?

It's a sickening fold
where I, as a human,
cannot be supported due to the career I want to pursue.
Because every other student wants to be a doctor.
And the average parent is surprised I'm not going to push for lawyer.
A misunderstood theme
where it's too difficult
to explain how you feel.
You see everyone else
and wonder why you can't be that happy, naturally.
You're in a rippling pool
that pushes you to the edge;
where you then proceed to cough up the words people have forced down your throat.
It's all a type of distortion
in which you see yourself differently.
Because in your twisted world,
the mirror you're looking in is broken.