What a mere irony it is,
that grievance follows ,
the attempt of mine.
to be something that,
would please you the most...

What a mere irony it is,
that smile flourishes,
on my face, like a rose,
when I become someone,
that you label insane...

Once I transform,
into something ,
undesirable for you,
you would reject me,
like some unwanted trash...

But, a single reflection,
standing on the,
other side of the mirror,
would convince me,
the guilt of disappointing you,
did not perish in vain....