You didn’t like your differences,

So you packed them all away,

Put them inside an iron cage,

And turned normal that day.


You didn’t like your smile anymore,

Now that you knew it was not straight,

And you sucked in your breath at the pool.

Now that you were ashamed of your weight.


You started to crumble because,

Normal would never do,

And I clenched my fists as I watched,

The different go out of you.


You confidence shattered,

And fell from you to the ground,

While I was stuck watching you with the people,

You had to be normal around.


You practiced writing your name neatly,

Like all the other people seemed to do,

And I saw tears slid down your freckled cheeks,

As your spidery signature was still you.


Your croaky morning voice changed,

To silence in the air,

And you fussed over,

Your “ugly” curled hair.


The mirror image of you,

Was sucked of all the different,

And your stormy blue eyes,

Didn’t glint.


You took all your differences,

And locked them in a cage tightly,

And when you did this,

You took the different out of me.


My smile withered away,

Because it wasn’t coaxed out by you,

And my laugh disappeared,

Because it wasn’t a prize for what you would do.


When you locked away your differences,

You took mine along too,

Because I can’t be me,

Unless you are you.



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