I am who is hidden beneath the clothes of life.
Striving to perfect and protect my image.
Looking for hope of ever being who really I am.
Beaten, hurt, crushed by the evil of how other people see me.
Just barely floating on the river of death.
Just slightly surviving.
Grabbing at the mud, clawing for a good grip.
Waiting for a branch to reach out and pull me onto the shore.
The waves rip me underneath again.
Will I ever survive?
I've found the cruelty, but where's the justice?
Where's the freedom?
Why am I always struggling to free my soul?
To free my imagination?
To be me?
 
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