They call me wired,
and they call me creepy.
Why is darkness so miss understood?
I act as though there verbal knifes don't touch my inner soul.
But how can I hide the bleeding that I fell inside?
Why am I so miss understood?
I keep to myself,
My books,
and My reading.
The titles are dark
and counseling.
Time has played his part
but I do not care
In these titles of old and classic
There are spirits who under stand.
How I wish I could jest hold there hand.
I am a loan wolf,
no one dares to talk to me.
If they interrupt my inner thoughts
and meditation
They take a gambol on there existents.
Why do they miss understand?
I am not wired
and creepy.
I'm only different.
Why do they see me as a monster?
I do not hide in there closet.
Do they not understand?
I am not the creepy one.
I am not the monster.
Nor am I wired.
They are the scary ones.
They are the ones I fear.
For they are the many.
Made up of class room peers
or the ones who with I work.
As the many they out number the one.
They decide what I am
By speculation.
They trap me in a cage of what I am not.
Will no one free this injured bird?
Will no one let me fly?
Why...
Why am I so miss understood.
Alas,
I fell a hand.
One of warmth in my cold prison.
He looks at me
and dose not call me creepy.
He dose not call me wired.
He dose not see a monster.
He only sees me.
My cage is broken,
At last I've been set free!
No more I bleed from hateful scares.
I, like all morning spirits,
Only wish to be understood,
wish to be heard,
wish to be loved.
Why is it people...
are so miss understanding.
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I blamed it on the dog...
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I blamed it on the dog...
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<-I don't get along with people]
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