I was born in the arms of imaginary friends, who helped me sing a tangled melody;
Never to be accepted, veiled in secret reverie
I was taught  to dance at the hands of winds –  yet to look past graffiti filled walls
I was Molded, and structured, like Jell-O art.
Losing a battle filled with right and wrong stepping into pools of silence and books of empathy
I taught the shadow how to hide
And the night how shine;
And you never bothered me.
To abide, tolerating  frigid rules. A mainstream battle against futile ignorance, that’s how I pictured this .
Filled with hope, and love at ideas of excellence that got you no were, but pity. Yet  you refuse to let go and refuse my absence with sterner conviction of long turned believes.
No longer in use, no longer mine;
And I have to abide- no longer.
I was born with diligence and rebellion is a skill. One of intelligence, at least till I grow old enough to know otherwise.
As for now, my hands are open- waiting to mold myself apart from you
Feet pointed towards the door, mouth ajar- and you don’t want to hear these words.
And you don’t have a choice , because there must be some explanations to stacks of luggage waiting to walk out of your doors, and I was never one to lie- just to hide, like I am now
I was never yours.
I was always mine.