Different

June 20, 2009
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Sometimes, I feel like I am a seashell
But I do not own the freedom as the shell has in the big ocean
I do not have the opportunity to break the shell and come out
The other sea beasts are whipping hard against my fragile shell
And soon it will break

Break like a mask made of cardboard
My mask is easier to break than the wings of a flie
The flie can fly away with no big worries
They all have black faces
It is true but hard to say, that flies live a less complicated life than me

I refuse to pretend that my skin, brighter than bones, is restfull
It is not a peacefull, green meadow with open sunflowers

My skin has lived for hundreds of years
It is anxious and frightened
it is like a forest at midnight, with no souls, and only crows screaming my ears to deaf
I am running through my life, without looking back

I refuse to let them bring me down
I will fight, and I will not realise the game of yours
I am preparing and feeding my flame
And soon, I will play my ace

I will show them how they gave me scars on my tortured soul
Show them, that their words were like brushes towards my eyes
And that their fists were less painful
Less painful than the words, which came out like black waterfalls

Soon, I will not be the odd one out
I will not be the light sun among the darkest December night
I will find someone like myself and be a member of the majority
They will be the tunnel, and I will be light at the end of the tunnel





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