Dust on the Shelf

People try to understand me,
but I don’t even know myself.
I wish I could just be free,
but instead I collect dust on the shelf.
Standing in the corner
trying to figure myself out.
It’s like I’m a foreigner.
It doesn’t matter how loud I shout.
Will I find love?
Or will I live my life alone?
Do I symbolize peace like a dove?
Maybe these things are still unknown.
All I do know is that I won’t give in.
Maybe someday I’ll find purpose that lies within.





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