My mind is filled with words and phrases
which are trying their best to seep out onto this page,
but they are being constricted.
Its still lines constricting how much my words can reveal my soul;
but this pen and i are connected in more ways than one.

We have been lost within ourselves,
have reached the point of giving up only to find a reason to fill up again.
But these reasons are far and few between.
With no more words to write how should we go on?

Every time i find a new part of myself,
it is shoved into the inky darkness by another.
Whether it be gender,
career choice,
or sexuality,
none of these are truly mine anymore.
I can not decide who I am,
I am just given this body to inhabit with my broken soul.
Whether I am male, female, or neither matters not to you,
for you believe that everyone is equal and the same.

The hand which holds this pen is corrupt and wants my words to conform,
and for me to stay within the margins;
but i just want to break out.

How could you tell me who i am when you still have not dealt with yourself?