My true self lurks behind the doors wooden frame,
Locked up in society's chains.
The true me is not who I appear to be
For the world discriminates against me.
Hiding my identity prevents judgement from those I do not seek.
Just a face in the crowd until I am hidden behind that door.
Around society I am just as uniform as they come,
but my true feelings and opinions contradict every last one.
I am the odd number in a group of evens,
I am the sharp pencil surrounded by dull ones.
I put on a show, but it's all an act,
Because once individuality is taken,
it can't be earned back.