I Am Not You

I Am Not You

Verse 1I drag my shadow like a busted kite behind me on a wind that never quits and never really knows where it is blowing
My head is a hallway of broken speakers and noise whispers where every stupid brilliant thought keeps tripping on its own showing
They call me gifted like that is some kind of blessing when the ribbon is made of razor wire and the prize is a brain that never stops going
I sit in the corner at parties cracking jokes while the floor tilts sideways under my feet and nobody sees the way my hands are shaking and my pulse is glowing
I clap for everybody else when they win their plastic halos and polite applause while I stitch my scattered pieces with coffee
late nights, and unseen bleeding
No medals hanging off these cracked-up neurons

no bright front light for a mind that keeps sprinting in circles and chewing on its own feeding.
Pre-ChorusYou trace in straight lines
I scribble in the dark with trembling hands and half-finished maps that I never quite get through
You find your smile in photographs
mine is taped together with punchlines that backfire the second they leave my mouth for you.

ChorusI am not you, I am not calm, I am not quiet
I am not the picture you painted in your head of what a winner should look like standing straight and new
No awards for a fractured mind that writes ten novels on a napkin in an hour
then forgets to eat, forgets to sleep
forgets what it meant to do, I am the stupid genius
the brilliant spark gone heavy and slow
the soulful heart gone hollow and cold as if somebody left it out in winter dew

I am the strange and mean green grinch of the group chat
snapping with sarcasm while hiding a rusted treasure chest of love that nobody ever knew
I am the comedian who splits in half when the room explodes in laughter
feeling every punchline like a bruise I carefully drew
I am not you, I am not you
and some nights that feels like failure tattooed on my skull
some nights that feels like the only honest thing I do.

Verse 2I keep a notebook full of half-born worlds
sketches of lives I will never live
and punchlines I regret the minute they land on your ears
Every clever line I drop on the table tastes like ash when I swallow
like I traded my own quiet for a cheap distraction from my fears
You see the quick wit snapping like a matchstick in the dark while I see a glitching film reel stuck between frames
looping every awkward moment from the last ten years

I play the clown who takes the hit
the jester who dodges questions with a joke and a wink while my chest feels like it is filling up with old gears
You say you wish you had my imagination
all this wild fire and crooked color
but you do not see the nights where I pace trenches in my carpet and argue with disappearing peers
Where my skull feels like a crowded highway with no traffic lights
where every thought rear-ends the next and everything smells like burnt-out brakes and unshed tears.

Pre-ChorusYou walk in straight hems and clean seams
I stagger in ink stains and coffee spills
too many drafts of a self that never quite comes through
You rest in silence, I drown in noise
and when I crack a joke to keep us both afloat it is my own ribs that split right through.

ChorusI am not you, I am not calm, I am not quiet
I am not the tidy little success story you post online when the day is finally through
No trophies for insomnia epiphanies
no applause for punching keys at three in the morning while the walls lean in and ask what I am trying to prove
I am that stupid genius
the one who could solve your life in a sentence but forgets where the keys are and stares at the sink like it might move
I am that soulful heart that went numb from overload

too many shocks to the same raw wire until it stopped sparking and slipped out of its groove
I am the nasty sweetheart, the barbed-wire hug
the grouch who snarls first then stays up all night fixing your world with tape and glue
I am the comic relief that breaks inside with every laugh track echoing back
wondering why my joy sounds like something I already outgrew.

Verse 3Sometimes I stand in the mirror and watch my pupils flicker like bad bulbs
wondering which version of me is driving and which one is locked in the trunk
The hungry artist, the bored child, the bitter critic
the quiet guardian
all trading places so fast the faces smear into one long funk
I build castles out of stray ideas
stack them high with rhyme and rhythm

then kick the base out from under them because I am scared you will call them junk
I talk tough, play cold
throw sarcasm like darts and nail the target every time while secretly hoping somebody sees the shake in my aim
sees where I am sunk
You think I love the punchline spot
the center heat of the crowd
but half the time I am counting exit signs and bargaining with my brain not to jump to the worst-case hunk

And every time you laugh a little too hard, I flinch
wondering if the joke was me
if I just handed you another cracked piece of my identity to slam dunk.
Pre-ChorusYou move through rooms like they belong to you
I drift through like a ghost in my own life
tracing furniture I helped pick and futures that never bloomed on cue
You relax into your skin, I tug at mine

wishing I could unzip this buzzing suit of worries and walk out unmarked and new.
ChorusI am not you, I am not calm, I am not quiet
I am not the poster child for balance in the brochure that they handed out to you
No applause for the mind that builds a thousand universes between breakfast and bed and then forgets which one was real
which one grew, I am the stupid genius
the brilliant mind gone blank mid-sentence
watching the cursor blink like a mocking light in an empty room with no clue

I am the soulful heart that iced itself over
too many winters without proper shelter
pretending frostbite is just a different kind of tattoo
I am that grouchy savior
the sharp-tongued misfit with a hidden stash of warmth
who would still give you the last blanket when the storm breaks through
I am the comedian who crumples in the wings

feeling broken every time I hear your laughter
wondering why my joy keeps coming back in blue.
BridgeIf you opened up my skull you would not find genius
you would find sticky notes, burnt-out bulbs
unpaid rent on a hundred unfinished dreams scattered on the floor
You would find a control room run by children in hand-me-down suits pressing every button at once
crying and laughing and locking random doors

You would find an old dog guarding a tiny golden thing in the center
snarling when anyone gets close because nobody ever stayed long enough to see what that light was for
You would hear punchlines echo down the stairwells
jokes I told to keep us all from shattering
and you would hear the silence after
where my ribs felt sore
You would watch me write off my worth as a glitch

a misprint, a joke gone sideways
then turn around and hold a stranger together like I was born to be their quiet war
You would feel the ache of wanting to matter without having to bleed on command
of wanting to be loved without turning my own heart into the only open door.
Final ChorusI am not you, I am not calm, I am not quiet
I am not the neat little ending where everything lines up and every piece suddenly fits the view
No awards for a fractured mind that still paints constellations on its own cracks

no ribbon for the runner who never found the finish line
only kept running right on through
I am the stupid genius, the brilliant spark gone hazy
the soulful heart gone half-asleep that still twitches when a lonely voice calls out from the back row too
I am the cruel sweetheart, rough-edged and snarling
who still hides a soft corner of the bed for the broken people who never knew what to do
I am the comedian who breaks a little every time we share a laugh

but keeps writing new lines anyway, because if I stop
this whole fragile ceiling might fall straight through
I am not you, I am not you, I am not you
and if all this pain is the cost of all this wild fire
then I will keep walking this shaking wire with no one to answer to.