Identity

I was raised with a certain thought
this is good and this is not
black and blue and green and red
all these colors in my head
everyone else never saw
the way the world worked
how I draw
my fingers spinning like a clock
time melts quickly
tick tock
tick tock
and when I lay my head to rest
is it just another test?
I ask myself this every day
and wonder if I could even say
the things that trouble this young mind
jaded thoughts I feel are fine
in a glass house
is where I live
I've lived there since I was a kid