Why must I be normal, and do normal things? Who made me believe I would fly with new wings? Why must I conform, re-enact what I see? Who made me believe I’d be better - and free? What makes it so hard to embrace each new task is the critical take, hypocrisy’s mask. Therapists decree that I follow their lead, repeating each problem, each failing, each need; diplomas display their bland theory and creed, insidious weaponry. I’m left to bleed. From my point of view, it’s outside me that’s strange. I’m content being me, so why should I change to fit into a world where frustration is rife? Let me be leave me free it's my choice, it's my life.