Your hands tell a story,
Your eyes are the feeling,
Your words are the way,
Your personality shows what you have become and what you will be in the future.

The colors mash together in a drop of rain.
All the bright colors now look the same.
One by one you separate the bright flames from Black and Gray.
You can now show the demented world what you have made.
But when society gets to the inside pouch you will feel like you fit out.

I can't tell you how it feels,
because you haven't felt it.
You don't understand,
but that's okay.
I'm not playing the victim,
I'm just telling you how it is.
I know you don't believe me,
but it's only because you see me a different way.
It hurts to think about it but I just push it aside because it's not like that anymore, but yet it's still not anything.

People don't see that it's a real disease,
Acting like it's all a breeze,
Telling me what I can and can't see,
Saying the fear isn't real,
And that I technically shouldn't be able to feel,
Its like reading a sign that says it's left but pointing right,
I know that I'm alright,
See i may have a problem but it's not me,
It's all the people that can't see,
That normal is a factor of weird but if you aren't the right amount your considered a queer?
It's not about the categories of A,B, and C,
But it's about understanding me.

Hello?
Am I in love?
Is this real?
Am I really enough?
All I know is...
I've never felt this way.
You make me feel like a lovesick girl,
In the sixth grade.
Can't think about it too much,
Because then I think it might just,
Lose its touch.