What am I here for?
To walk roads paved by other men?
"Living the life", just an illusion,
In this closed dirty den.
This will of mine is corroded with doubts.
Will the normal like me if I break the norm?
Can such a reality exist?
Will my loved ones still love me, If I appear in my true form.
Empty lives, empty souls,
Trying to live a monotone,
Wearing a protective attire,
Water over passionate fire,
To keep order they say,
They were just too scared, those liars.
The ones who stray off,
Are called names,
Criticism is used by others
To cover their own inner shame,
For the stray followed their hearts,
While these couldn't.
The more you bury your heart,
The greater the poison will grow,
Your soul will stay small,
And your suffering won't cease,
Being yourself might break the ideal's idea,
But you aren't here to please.
Let your love and passion grow,
In whatever direction your soul points.
Put your soul before them, and before you.
Your soul's true will is your gift to this world.
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"Normality is a paved road: It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow." - Vincent van Gogh
