I am me, truer words never fully expressed

Within such a world where not one shall wholly address

The reality of individuality is merely a creation…

A creation by those who once professed,

Their tones mocking to suggest,

That beautiful and original can be scorned with frustration,

That hopes and dreams can be fully oppressed,

Those thoughts, once so bright, can be suppressed

And true feats can be reduced to an annotation

My imagination, caught in a web of confusion, never confessed

Though no matter my might, my compulsively obsessed

Goals are met with no adoration

Though just a girl trapped in the Midwest,

My true fate remains blocked by those who protest

Those fueled by a hate peaked with aggravation

So I shall be me, always second best