Strangers think I am a silent angel,
sent from above, polite, smart, and happy.
I am "one of the sane ones," not a danger.
"She'll go places," they say, "dressed so snappy."
My friends joke that I'm the "mom" of the group.
I'm always prepared and give sound advice.
I don't break rules, or stray far from my stoop,
"She'll go places," they smile, "so very nice."
My family thinks I'm a prodigy,
put here to sing and perform math like tricks.
They expect so much from a wannabe;
"She'll go places," they cry, "look how she can fix!"
These things bore me, they are vernacular.
I want to fly high, and be so daring;
I want me, at the highest caliber.
"I go where I want!" I shout, declaring.
I don't want to be this person they see.
Who I am and what I want's contrary.