I don't know what makes you think you know me,
I don't know what makes you think you have me figured out.
You don't.
You never will if you keep this up.
You can't classify me the way that you want.
You can't toss me into just one shallow pool of stereotype.
You can't pretend that it truly describes who I am.
Is that why you don't give me a chance?
Is that why I'm so disposable?
Are you afraid of who I am?
Afraid that I've been enough places to help?
Been enough places to have felt the hurt?
Is it your independance?
Is it your bravado?
Is it your energy?
Is it your bitter outlook?
Is it your oddities?
Is that what makes you so beautiful....
Is that why you confuse me so much?
Is that why...
    you're like me....
          maybe.
                 Just maybe.

Just dropped by to see how your doing, your quite an impressive writer, at the same time you sound so sad, maybe that's what makes it so good

wow, you hit the nail on the head with this one, Bryce. you rock!