There's always voices calling my name,

not in whispers but in yells.

They're always telling me which direction to take and which to not,

the voices don't allow for mistakes,

 no they only accept perfection.

Following their lead I head towards what they want

and never towards my own desires.

Weak attempts to persuade them of other wishes are crushed by their superior roars.

In this life I've become the dough and them the hands,

sitting in the shadows waiting to see what shape I'll be molded into next.

None of the final products are the real me but artifical ones.

They look to be  genuine to the public eye,

but what no one knows is the pain it causes inside.

Never able to reveal my true passions,

I instead  become their lifeless doll to make up for past losses.