Why do shackles exist in the land of the free?
Why does everyone dislike me?
Try to change me into something called 'normal'
ew, don't touch me, i might catch normal
'nomal' is a disease,
it's clear to see,
my eyes don't deceive.
I'm not going to change now,
I don't know why or how
I've gotta be me,
why is society's vision so blurry?
I can attempt to reach down and clean it,
but why would I crush myself and sit,
when I can jump up high and tall,
in my world there are no walls.
I can paint a pretty picture with a razor and my wrist,
but why would I, this story has no twist,
I'm not 'normal'
I'm never going to be.
I don't care if you all dislike me.
Why do shackles exist in the land of the free?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem