You say you want to know me, but then you don’t understand

What I am saying; you don’t even know who I am.

The more I open up, the distant I get,

The more I explain, the loonier I get.

I try more than I could ever care to,

But all I am is a confounded fool to you.

Idealistic philosophies, so ridiculous;

Realism to you can only be my dream…

Romanticism, my childish notion

Wisdom, on my lips, like pearls on a string,

Makes you wonder, is she who I wanted her to be?

With words and ways, too naïve for the real world?

As I span every corner, you quietly wonder,

If I’m lost and a prisoner of my own actions,

Whilst I endeavour in vain, to prove my sense of purpose and direction.

How can a soul be so agilant? Always brimming with ideas myriad?

You muse deep beneath, as I prance, skip, stroll and tumble across my destinations,

Only to learn and grow, live and be all that you’re convinced I can never be.

When actions fail, and words betray

Thoughts only worthy of jeer and sneer,

With ways of a lonely wanderer,

Why wonder who I am,

If all I am is unworthy

Of even a king’s penny?