I was not born to live
I am but a canvas
Made into many things
All acting as they demand us
So it has always been
For the we that is me
Switching day-to-day
Changing how we are seen
A girl of silence, an artist of passion
A passive thing, overflowing with sadness
Lowering my head, as I raise my contempt
A subservient smile, hiding my malice
Am I hollow? Plastic?
Who really knows us?
These faces I wear
All fill me with disgust
Yet I can’t remember anymore
What lies underneath
What it is to be true
What it is to be complete