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They judge me by what my darker side contians, Instead of the real me holding its reins, Which does not conform to its hate, Also called its bipolar state. They laugh, they mock, they break my heart, All without giving a hope for a new start. It leaves me broken inside. But no matter where I hide, They will find me. Will I ever be free? Free of the hate and scorn, Free of being broken and torn. But for as long as I live, "free" is only in dreams. So what is life to me? More impossible for me, it seems. So I step in line with other broken souls, And watch my life breaking like ancient china bowls.