I am not your favourite person
it is not right, you know nothing about me
I am a closed book,
don't open me to read,
the empty pages are not yours to fill,
I am normal, don't make me feel bad
It is exceptional, the part you expect me to fill still,
But I am my own person,
Keying my destiny to be apart.

Shackled within a
stressed, wood stain finish
farewell faces pressing up
against the glass
the image of a perfect family
the only good memory
that would last

Turbulent upbringings
often teach one
to write out the storm