Misfit

He hides in his turtle shell Afraid to meet the world To face the gaping eyes To hear the intruding voice His tongue refuses to speak His mind works no more In the company of empty souls So he better shut up In his house of solitude Rather than act bizarre And make a fool of himself In the eyes of the ones Who gauge you by looks And pass a judgment on you By the standard of their pettiness For them, he is a no-body Living inside the confines of reserve Narrow and suffocating to death Alone and burning in hell For he cannot think like they do He cannot flow with the stream He cannot be them He is a misfit as they say.