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.