My true self lurks behind the doors wooden frame,

Locked up in society's chains. 

The true me is not who I appear to be 

For the world discriminates against me.

Hiding my identity prevents judgement from those I do not seek.

Just a face in the crowd until I am hidden behind that door. 

Around society I am just as uniform as they come,

but my true feelings and opinions contradict every last one.

I am the odd number in a group of evens, 

I am the sharp pencil surrounded by dull ones. 

I put on a show, but it's all an act, 

Because once individuality is taken,

it can't be earned back.