Society looks upon her as she walks,
Head held high, looking straight ahead,
And they whisper behind my back.
They think they know my every move,
But how can you possibly know me,
When I don't even know myself?
"She's so lucky", they mumble,
Lucky to feel insecure, lost, shattered and broken.
Lucky to wake every day to question who I am?
WHO AM I... a boy's dirty dream, a suicidal schizophrenic?
I am anything but ordinary, far from lucky.
I stumble in this corrupt light of a world,
Trying to find me, the broken pieces that are scattered,
Lost within these hazy thoughts in my head,
In my head, no one should go to such a place,
I scream, but the walls are soundproof, alone with my thoughts,
I glance at the shards of a once perfect image,
And look upon the weak distorted reflection of a once self,
Who am I?
I struggle to find myself,
But I fear that I won't like the truth of who I am,
What I am. Troubled soul, dark past,
Bleak future. Not everyone is able to crawl,
From the rubble of their barbed flaws and insecurities,
But this fades away and on the outside a brilliant figure is seen,
Really a hollow masterpiece, is what you'll see from the inside looking out.
