Normal Tongue
She is there in a corner.
Her mind is all on herself.
She has to put an elbow grease
on the tasks given.
The strangers around her
are gibbering/ chattering.
She has nowhere to go,
she is stuck in this globe
where she defines herself different from the rest.
She realizes why people look down on her,
her fear bottles up her soul.
Her confidence is shattered into chandelier pieces
laying there forever,
unable to be glued back into its body.
Maybe the reason why she doesn't fit in
is because she feels she's giving
a bad impression in the eyes of people.
Maybe the reason why she doesn't spill
is because she thinks people don't know how to reach her.
Perhaps the reason why she abandons herself
is because she feels pushed
but desires to punch her fists
to break the glass bauble
filled with water that drowns her to mental death.
She knows she has to shake it off.
She yearns not to let people down.
She chases after reflection of her past.
She gazes at new horizons
hoping to snatch her black lonely heart.
She waits for someone out there
to draw a heart of hope on her skin
and guide her through the tunnel.
She wants to be heard.
She wants to be loved.
She wants to be a person who is worth it.
She wants to be inspired.
She wants to love stories
told by extraordinary citizens
and to share with the world.
She wants to see the depth
of colourful portraits within her friends
and hold the streamer of courage
when facing outsiders.
She wants a collage pasted with questions
and find tags that reveal the answers.
She longs to participate
a chance that she is forced to unlock
out of a rusted treasure chest.
She looks up the bejeweled obsidian sky,
diamonds that twinkles
so brilliantly she desires to caress her hair
like a pure goddess that steals male hearts.
She doesn't want to repeat the errors
she doesn't dare to see herself in front of a mirror
the tongue that ties to her hideous mouth.
Her eyes are nothing
but a shade of grey.
Her quivering language chains her down to the ground.
Her figure keeps choking her away from faith.
You want to grab her hand
and yank her out
but she seeks trust from your heart
and wonders where is the light that illuminates from your true hues.
She wants to know more of you
and she hopes she can try.
That girl write this
That girl is me.
She has nowhere to go,
she is stuck in this globe
where she defines herself different from the rest.
She realizes why people look down on her,
her fear bottles up her soul.
Her confidence is shattered into chandelier pieces
laying there forever,
unable to be glued back into its body.
Maybe the reason why she doesn't fit in
is because she feels she's giving
a bad impression in the eyes of people.
Maybe the reason why she doesn't spill
is because she thinks people don't know how to reach her.
Perhaps the reason why she abandons herself
is because she feels pushed
but desires to punch her fists
to break the glass bauble
filled with water that drowns her to mental death.
She knows she has to shake it off.
She yearns not to let people down.
She chases after reflection of her past.
She gazes at new horizons
hoping to snatch her black lonely heart.
She waits for someone out there
to draw a heart of hope on her skin
and guide her through the tunnel.
She wants to be heard.
She wants to be loved.
She wants to be a person who is worth it.
She wants to be inspired.
She wants to love stories
told by extraordinary citizens
and to share with the world.
She wants to see the depth
of colourful portraits within her friends
and hold the streamer of courage
when facing outsiders.
She wants a collage pasted with questions
and find tags that reveal the answers.
She longs to participate
a chance that she is forced to unlock
out of a rusted treasure chest.
She looks up the bejeweled obsidian sky,
diamonds that twinkles
so brilliantly she desires to caress her hair
like a pure goddess that steals male hearts.
She doesn't want to repeat the errors
she doesn't dare to see herself in front of a mirror
the tongue that ties to her hideous mouth.
Her eyes are nothing
but a shade of grey.
Her quivering language chains her down to the ground.
Her figure keeps choking her away from faith.
You want to grab her hand
and yank her out
but she seeks trust from your heart
and wonders where is the light that illuminates from your true hues.
She wants to know more of you
and she hopes she can try.
That girl write this
That girl is me.
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