They keep calling me "special"
But what is so special about me ?
my only real achievement
Is my absurd urge to help
Trying to be a good samaritan
No matter the sacrifice
They keep calling me a "warrior"
But am I really?
The twisting scars
Clinging to my skin like ivy
A poison like acid burning through layers of me
Silently decaying my personality
They keep calling me "mature"
Do I really act like an adult?
They don't see the childhood robbed from me
Memories that I never want revisit
Remember the purest joy
Will not allow shadowy creature enrapture
They keep calling me a "proud Scotsman"
But who's to say I am ?
I know the traits and traditions
The culture and their ways
Another part of me is fading
My accents dispersing
Due to the merciless mocking and stereotypes
Tough rough thick scary , really ?
They keep calling me "greedy"
Do I consume that much ?
The only thing I have control over
The power to Divulge myself
Or agonize myself
You eat too much ; you will disappear soon they chorus
They keep calling me a " tease"
Am I weak and soft ?
Words cut deeper than expected
Engraved in me very soul
Etched in my skull
Only masks can disguise it
Just multiple fake faces
They keep calling me "anti -social"
Am I that rude ?
I trust a handful of people
To observe the legitimate me
If my plagued mind seeps through
I simply Banish them
Advice which I have been told seems
embedded with juxtapositions
But what can I expect as I only tell half the story
Don't want people to feel the pressure I do
So to answer that question
Why do they call me special?
Is the fact I do not live for me but in fact for others
And how that is slowly deteriorating me but I will never let it show.
