it was so hard to fit
when i knew they pushed so many out
made so many feel like who they were was wrong
but they were wrong
creativity became a sin because not everyone understood
why did they need to
individuality became an idea people toyed with, manipulated into ugly shapes
like modeling clay in their identical little hands
because if you weren't like them
(normal)
then you needed to be changed
no one could change me
no one could fix what wasn't broken
no one could alter what had the ability to do great things
no one could change me
and as long as i kept this little reminder taped up on the wall by my bed
i wouldn't worry about conforming in the end
i understood that even in my loneliest hour when i seemed to know nothing
about my future or what the wretched thing had in store for me
at least i knew myself
but two days ago i felt so secluded and miserable in my head that i tore the notebook page off my wall
crumpled it in a ball
unraveled it and saw the truth as a wrinkly piece of garbage
and told myself a flimsy piece of paper couldn't define me
it couldn't save me
it couldn't fix what was already broken
it could't alter the person i had slowly, unintentionally become
it couldn't save me
so i tore it up and threw it away
