That Somebody Is Me

I hate this confinement
this mask over my face.
I hate my pretend life,
everything happening fast-pace.

I hate all the jokes,
the fun poked at me,
like I'm an idiot,
stared at in a laboratory.

I hate the faces,
the heads that shake
when they see me,
their smiles so fake.

I hate when they compare me
to everyone around,
pointing and contrasting;
I cannot make a sound.

I hate the forced silence,
but I want to scream.
They don'tnow what they're doing to me,
crushing every dream.

I hate their stories
to show just how
perfect they were,
and how perfect they are now.

I hate their predictions,
especially when they're right.
I hate how they argue
about me every night.

I hate their knowing smiles
and how inferior they make me feel,
how stupid and alone
and how unreal.

I hate their decisions
they make for me
without even asking
if that's what I wanted, nicely.

But most of all,
I hate recieving their pity.
I can be somebody--
and that somebody is me.