Why is life so sad?
is it because i'm naughty or bad?
Why can't people see what i do?
My stories, my artwork
Each one brand new.

Why can't people see what i see?
My dreams and ideas that need to be free.
Why do these people hate me so?
Am i grotesque or ugly..well...yes or no?

My voice is not heard,
I am much like a bird.
A plain bird...not pretty
Not outgoing or witty.

But a bird who gets missed,
And is not on the list,
Of specials, or rarest,
Or biggest, or fairest.

But a bird who sits quiet,
And very alone,
No longer important,
Not noticed, unknown.