I don't really know how this world works, I don't know what goes on everyone's mind,
all I know is me, who is still locked in here, in my clothed lines.

There was once a me, who was never taught to express,
a feeble being, abnormal, and sometimes, wreck.

I don't know how I grew up to be,
as a kid I just followed whatever made me feel,
alive, or it may seem to be.

Like I was only a picture, stuck in a frame,
with a vision of finest creation, I was displayed.

A poker face shown to outsiders, a nasty personality at home,
and there was also a me, who hid in the corners, being soaked.

Everything, unknown, I didn't know, what the world was,
sometimes I was curious, but this curiosity costs.

Now I think, I guess I was made by the thoughts imposed,
but these imposters were my own,
family and friends, they made me an obnoxious soul.

It was me, who was prisoned, untouched by the impurities,
a me that is lost, somewhere, where no one could see.

I looked around, here and there, learned myself how to think,
as these people were the barriers, confining me with the words of what others may think.

Earlier, I used to think,
if I do what my parents say, they might admire me, praise me for the work I did,
like the teacher and the class,
but I always remained a faulty, with no genuine gifts or applause.

Still I did, whatever I could do, may be,
one day, they would see me,
for who I am, but days passed, so as the years, and the me, unseen, drifted away, so far,
that I don't know anymore, who that was.

My friends, they also never knew me,
they never asked anything about me,
I felt like a...