Fix It

Trapped. Its all i can say.

A cage that holds me from feeling anything euphoric, instead, exposing me with air of negativity passing through a passage for me to breathe. Im suffocated.

The happiness word in my dictionary keep fading away as there are hands trying so hard rubbing to deny it. Whose hands are those? The hand of reality.

The true colour of mine is not offered by the syllabus of colour spectrum and is beyond explanation. Can only be reached by imagination but always mistaken by the presence of judgement. If they drag me into a trial, im sure the jury wont be on my side as they do not have the same sense as i do.

Like in maths, the Equal sign will always divide two worlds. Take a guess, where am i? Im on the other side for sure. They must cross the Equal sign and throw everything that they had so they can see my true colour. Then they will know im not broken. Its just miraculous if they succeed jumping across the Equal sign.

There is nothing to fix.