May 2014
Do you realize I can see it?
That look in your eyes?
Saying I’m a freak?
A loser?
A spazz?
A good for nothing?
A ******?
That look that says I’m different?
I’m tired of being different,
Of trying to be like you,
Why do I even try?
To be like you?
Can’t I be myself?!
Oh wait no!
I CANT BE MYSELF!
It’s socially unacceptable!
What the hell!
WHY CANT I BE ME?!
Is that so bad?
To try to be myself?
To be individual?
To be unique?
To dress how I want?
To say what I want to say?
And do what I want to do?
And act how I want to act?
To be myself without rebuke and constrain of social norms?
To be individual without being told its wrong and being tied down with the ropes of unspoken social rules?
To be unique without being glared at with looks of contempt and aloof?
To dress how I want without being looked at like I’m crazy, or told it’s out date?
To say what I want to say without being told that it’s weird or out-of-line?
To do what I want to do without being told I have to stay within certain confines?
To act how I want to act without having my lines scripted and my moves choreographed by the rules and regulations of society?
Is it so horrible to want to be who I am without the looks that say I’m an out-cast or having to live within the walls of social norms?
Am I such a terrible person that I can’t be myself?
And do you realize I can see it?
That look in your eyes?
Saying I’m a freak?
A loser?
A spazz?
A good for nothing?
A ******?
An out-cast?
A person out of line?
That look that says I’m different?
Because I do see it,
And it hurts,
To know I’ll never be accepted,
Or told its okay to be me,
To be individual,
To be unique,
To dress, say, do, and act how I want,
And not have to ask my Mom,
‘Is this outfit okay?’
To ask my friends,
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘Did I do something wrong?’
To ask my teachers,
‘Did I act out of line?’
To say to the whole wide world,
‘I’m sorry for being me,’
I see the looks,
I notice them every day,
And I must ask,
Can you please stop?
Because I’m sorry,
For being me,
Because I can’t change,
Who I am,
Because I see you, and I notice the looks you give me,
And they hurt,
So please?
Can you stop?
Just for one day?
Just one measly day?
Because it hurts,
And I can’t change,
Who I am.
That look in your eyes?
Saying I’m a freak?
A loser?
A spazz?
A good for nothing?
A ******?
That look that says I’m different?
I’m tired of being different,
Of trying to be like you,
Why do I even try?
To be like you?
Can’t I be myself?!
Oh wait no!
I CANT BE MYSELF!
It’s socially unacceptable!
What the hell!
WHY CANT I BE ME?!
Is that so bad?
To try to be myself?
To be individual?
To be unique?
To dress how I want?
To say what I want to say?
And do what I want to do?
And act how I want to act?
To be myself without rebuke and constrain of social norms?
To be individual without being told its wrong and being tied down with the ropes of unspoken social rules?
To be unique without being glared at with looks of contempt and aloof?
To dress how I want without being looked at like I’m crazy, or told it’s out date?
To say what I want to say without being told that it’s weird or out-of-line?
To do what I want to do without being told I have to stay within certain confines?
To act how I want to act without having my lines scripted and my moves choreographed by the rules and regulations of society?
Is it so horrible to want to be who I am without the looks that say I’m an out-cast or having to live within the walls of social norms?
Am I such a terrible person that I can’t be myself?
And do you realize I can see it?
That look in your eyes?
Saying I’m a freak?
A loser?
A spazz?
A good for nothing?
A ******?
An out-cast?
A person out of line?
That look that says I’m different?
Because I do see it,
And it hurts,
To know I’ll never be accepted,
Or told its okay to be me,
To be individual,
To be unique,
To dress, say, do, and act how I want,
And not have to ask my Mom,
‘Is this outfit okay?’
To ask my friends,
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘Did I do something wrong?’
To ask my teachers,
‘Did I act out of line?’
To say to the whole wide world,
‘I’m sorry for being me,’
I see the looks,
I notice them every day,
And I must ask,
Can you please stop?
Because I’m sorry,
For being me,
Because I can’t change,
Who I am,
Because I see you, and I notice the looks you give me,
And they hurt,
So please?
Can you stop?
Just for one day?
Just one measly day?
Because it hurts,
And I can’t change,
Who I am.
