I sit here by my bedroom wall
my back on stone, cold concrete

I stare at a future as bleak as the white wallpaper
peeling off the edge

Why is my worth
based off of a single sentence
the only referral to what I can or cannot do

I have plenty to offer
beyond the lines of A4 paper

And yet society scan these things
with cold eyes and cold minds
drawing a line to what I can or cannot do

And in the end,
I conform to those lines
tucking away the other sides of me

Feeling as though I have nothing to offer
for I do not fit within the boundaries
of those lines