Of all the things I've indulged in,
Nothing gets my heart bulging,
Like the thought of finally roaming free,
The thought of finally being me

I may not have an outstanding story,
And for that, I really am sorry,
But know that as of now I'm a captive,
Trapped in my skin struggling to breath

My dad says it's all for the best,
"You see my son, you're not like the rest",
I feel like it's another convoluted scheme,
That helps him relive a distant dream

I understand that it's probably for my own good,
Though that doesn't stop it from spoiling my mood,
I'll say it now as I've said countless times before,
I'm made of masks and faces not just flesh and bone