Made of steel
And as high as the moon,
It leaves me little room.
What shall I do
When you won’t be nice?
Cry? I think not.
Smile? I think so.
I don’t need your opinions
Or advice, now off you go.



You know nothing
Of my darkness,
The endless years
Of loneliness,
The hatred in the mirror
And demons behind closed doors.
You think I am as I seem:
Whole and serene.
But I’m not, I’m broken
And scarred beyond
Your wildest prejudiced dreams.

You don’t know me,
So here’s my life on a page,
And in this world of misery
And false hope, no one
Can hear you scream.