Pittter-Patter
Pitter-patter
The rain dropped down from,
The perched window side,
As the boy sat on a rickety old wooden chair.
Happy Birthday ,he says
Make a wish ,he says
But only if he knew how hard it is
This face.
This job.
This odd talent wasted.
I’m craving my freedom!
I demand to live my life!
I wish to be a human!
I value much more.
But I’m here trapped,
I’m here, here in this abyss hole,
Like the animals hurt and broken.
I snap back,
And blow out the candles.
The flame vanished.
Is this it?
Is this how I’m going to continue to live?
Is this how I’m going to be – forever lonely?
I hope one day,
They will realize that,
I’m more than just a-a,
F-FREAK!
One day I’ll carve a path for myself as beautiful as the wooden figures I create.
But for now… the show must go on.