Something seems missing in my life, I think;
The things I do don’t seem to take off well;
Nevertheless, I have plenty to ink;
The anguish in my heart, whom do I tell?
The things I plan, do not get much support;
Most things I do are meant for others’ sake;
And yet, people never realize import;
So decisions, I’m not allowed to take.
I wonder if I should stay just quiet;
Why should I do things, yet earn bad a name?
The stars in Sky don’t favor me as yet.
Though truly not, I feel I am still lame.
Somehow, they don’t accept my views at all;
My ideas to others tastes like gall.
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