Be yourself we are told,
But why do I feel,
As if I am in the wrong?
'Everybody is special', was instilled,
Yet still I'm called weird,
Sitting in this room,
I spill the beans,
Hoping to become normal again,
But something deep within,
Tells me there is no help,
The helper has her own problems too,
Framed with Harvard and Oxford,
Behind masks and smiles and lessons taught,

Sixteen, a lucky number it seems to be,
But why does this year bring tragedy?
I'm told strategies,
Yet still, it seems,
I'm digging a deeper well,
Every laughter, every memory, every battles, every fight,
It either builds you or break you,
But suppose it does neither of the two?

An empty space,
A cold place,
Nerves unrepaired,
The thumping in your ears,
Is the only thing you want to hear,
Not them telling you about philosophy,
Only these words make sense,
I can Billie me a fortune,
From these touching works,
For they are broken pieces,

This feeling of being,
Understood, but not heard,
I scream, but I'm silent,
Tell yourself you're pretty,
The reflection of my emotions,
I hate it... Punch my face,
Broken, shattered pieces,
Yet my face is still in place,

I have realised, I'll always be who I am,
But, why should I be in the wrong?
I'll hide behind philosophy and trophies,
Next time when  you see me,
You'll have a treat of what I have,
And not what I am, 
I'll be sitting in the chair,
With a display behind me,
While I wear a facade,
Trying to help others,
But at least I know,
This can never be mended,
So instead of trying to end it,
I'll show them it is priceless,
To think of alternatives,
Just be yourself,
But, what if I can never be me?
Now, that's a different story.