Touching others, with opinions
Forming of what my life, in here,
Do they like me? Do they
Engage themselves in supposition
Of who I am; of what I choose
Do they prejudice me,
As I wrongly do against others;
Categorising me into
A fixed mould?
They don't know the real me.
They see a facade, a fleshy cast,
Brail expressions formed for those who
Wish to read.
Or do they? They may see
Through my false demeanour and find
That despite my manner, I care.
I hope so.