Sometimes I am asked to describe who I really am,
I often struggle,
Because I always look for that correct response,
My staple answers are everybody else’s,
Lovable, Caring, Determined, Pleasant and more,
Nobody ever will have to delve deep into the gears of who I am,
Wild, Stubborn, Hardworking, An empath and Bold,
But I have to pass,
Our world’s scan,
So I got to erase all the untamed parts of me,
And add plastic traits that I need to hone.
In this reality,
I am just price tags,
Labels that are put on me,
Sometimes they are expensive,
Other times they are cheap,
Ripping of these tags are what I want to do,
But will society accept me?
A cloth with no tags is usually bad news,
A blank canvas usually suffocates a room,
With the new ideas swirling inside one’s brain,
The whiteness of the world,
Would surely lead to the world’s doom,
Although these price tags pinch me on my skin,
Although they itch everyday,
I keep them on,
No matter what,
As I fear to be the one,
Who is denied the pleasure of being sculpted,
By the community god.
From a very early age,
When I was about five,
I was taught something,
The differentiation,
Of good and bad people
In disguise,
Like a normal young child,
I always wanted to be part of the “good people clan”,
Little did I know that,
That clan was the most impurest plan,
A good person is always renowned,
And supposed to be the divine grace,
And behold a certain power,
And have found a place.
As the days went rumbling by,
There were many people who just stayed there between the lines,
I can’t say that,
That situation wasn’t mine,
They stayed there adhered,
Facing the battles of life.
Every single day,
I started to realize,
We are but citizens,
In this mindless paradox of life.
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