I am the child at the shelter who is continuously passed along.

 

Misunderstood, overlooked and forgotten.

 

The kid who didn't fit in because she was different.

 

Hated and spat upon because she was gifted.

 

I am the girl you do not like just because.

 

The girl that everyone downed because they  did not understand the way my sentences were worded.

 

I smiled but on the inside I was hurting.

 

I did nothing wrong, yet they have their motive.

 

Take anything she loved or said and load it with explosives.

 

Use her for our gift so we can seem as one.

 

And if you see her dreams, run them down as quickly as they come.

 

And I cry. For I am only myself. But the pressure makes me question who is that someone else?

 

Who is this person they want me to be? 

 

Why am I not enough?  

 

Why can't I be me?

 

Why must I stoop to their level.

 

I feel them sucking me in, I feel fear yet acceptance.

 

But I wish to turn back before the pressure makes me breathless.

 

I am afraid it is too late, they closed the casket and dropped the shovel.

 

The me that I was died when I stooped to their level.

 

Now I am one of them burying people who have potential.

 

In this world of unnecessary spoken words, I once was the desirable instrumental.