Over It

I'm over being pushed into little boxes
Tucked and folded to fit your molds,
Over having to watch you burn off the frayed strings
When you tear the parts off that don't mesh

I'm tired, of not being enough
Of feeling like I'm being stripped of extra pieces
Like I'm being boiled down to a single idea,
With anything extra being skimmed off the top

I'm sick of being compared to myself
To the molded and reshaped image in your head
Of being a disappointment
When I don't follow your script

I refuse, I'm through
I won't play your damsel, or become your villain
I will not be anyone but me