My pen has a mind of
Its own,
I keep writing,
Scribbling words unknown to
The human intellect,
Too many marks
On my paper,
Because I’m scared of what
I write,
Will effect every judgment
People already made of me,
I try to tell myself
That I am my own person,
What I wouldn’t give to be
Normal
To be disregarded instead of
To be full of people’s
Visions.
I stop, to think of
What not to say,
I don’t find myself
Lately thinking about
Myself,
But of other people,
And how they would
React to such unusualness.
I just want to be accepted.

 
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