I feel like a caged animal, confined to a cell.
Not allowed to go where I wish, never being free.
Always being watched, always being tamed.
Never allowed to be as I wish to be.
I always appear to other as I should, not as I am.
I always wondered what it would be like being me?
Not feelings sorry for my feelings, or ashamed.
Or feeling the fear that I will be rejected for being myself.
Stand tall for what I believe in. Not stepping back.
I wish to know what it is to be proud of yourself?
These wishís is something I can only dream of for now.
Dreams I must leave unfinished. Leaving fantasies died alone.
It makes me numb to believe in my own words that I speak to others.
Numb to feel these false emotions, that I forced to feel.
But I refuse to believe these emotions are my true feelings.
Surely I am not that cold of a person?
Or maybe I am just weak? For bowing to others?
Maybe someday I can clear my eyes, wet my lips and shout,
ďThis is not me, I refuse to be this person any longer. Do you hear me?Ē
I wonder if any one would believe me? Since I have told so many lieís?
Would some one see through my lieís, would someone care?
I would like to think I matter as something to someone?
But as this world changes it ainít just my self I doubt any more.
Sometimes I simply wish I was only the doll people think I am.
A emotionless doll, that has been discarded.
Tossed aside without care. Not wanted any longer.
A useless tool thatís been chipped or broken.
I wonder when I started to a mere object than a person?
Something to be used and not loved?
I really donít think I want the answers to my questions.
The answers might be more damaging than the questions.
Answers that might brake whatever is left of me.
I feel as empty as I feel these days, totally empty.
I feel and am nothing.
I believe I was something in the early years of my young life?
But I donít think any one can remember such times? I surely can not!
As history changes and is forgotten I am nothing mere than a weak girl of past.
Forgotten by those who said they would always remain, a past memory.
Yet I remain here as a shell of what I use to be. Of I girl that has long since have lost her innocents.
I suppose I am happy as a mere shell of something that might have been great?
Great within itís right I guess? Something to be remembered someday.
When someone call spare a moment to remember someone that was never really here.
Someone that was just a shell of something that never was, nor never be.