I’m just me, a patchwork of dreams,
Stitched together by time’s quiet seams.
A heart that bleeds with every beat,
Yet still I stand on weary feet.
They see the surface, the smile I show,
But deep within, the shadows grow.
I wear the mask they want to see,
But inside, I’m just me, just me.
A thousand facets make up me,
Some dark as night, some wild and free.
I carry them all, a heavy load,
Winding down a lonesome road.
They say I’m too much, too strange, too deep,
But in these layers, I keep and keep,
The echoes of a soul so vast,
Where present, future, meet the past.
I’ve tried to fit their narrow mold,
To dim my light, to be controlled.
But every time, it breaks my soul,
Leaving just an empty hole.
I’m just me, a soul in flight,
Chasing fragments in the night.
A puzzle piece that doesn’t fit,
In a world that rarely gives a bit.
Why do their words cut like a knife?
Why can’t they see my endless life?
I’m more than whispers, more than shame,
More than the letters of my name.
I’m fire and storm, I’m calm and sea,
An endless dance of all that’s me.
Though they may never understand,
I’ll hold these pieces in my hand.
Yet still I rise, despite the pain,
A phoenix born from ash and flame.
For in my heart, I know it’s true,
I’m just me—and that’s enough, too.
