You don't know me.
You don't understand me.
You cannot even
comprehend what I have been through,
so do not judge my current decisions.

You don't know what I do or why I do it,
you just understand the outer shell,
something so frail,
that you can't be bothered to look within,
and to see me for me.

You don't know my struggles,
my crosses that I bare,
or every little tare
in the fabric that is my life.

Oh you know me?
Tell me my thoughts.
Tell me my ideas.
Tell me why I do things out of the blue.
You can't, can you?

You cannot grasp my true self,
you put yourself on a higher shelf.
Looking down on me,
just to see
what makes me tick.

You can tell me you know me,
when we are in harmony,
and that will not happen unless you crack open your shell.

So until that day, I would appreciate it if you would pull back you're pointing finger from my face.