Why can't I just be me?

I laugh...

I cry...

I yell...

I love...



Does this make me perfect?

Or imperfect?



Is it my hair?

The clothes I wear?

The music I listen to?

That I rather play then be stuck in a room?



I don't want to be like the adults I see walking outside,

In their grey suits, 

Stoic faces, never smiling...



I know you want me to grow mama,

But how can I if you want me to be like everyone else?

I try to grow out my wings,and I did!

But the moment I took flight, 

An anchor pulled me back down...

Mama, can you just let me fly?



Can I be just myself... 

and no one else?



wow very nice..so hard to break the mold that soceity expects of u..the happiest people are the ones people call freaks..but in reality it is those gray suited no smile people who are..:0)..very nice poem..:0)


Chiara Crosby

Thank you for the review! :3 

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