Why Bother?

Maybe they only judge me for my exterior, don't look forth nor beyond the surface.
They claim to see me for what I seem.
The complexities of my dynamics reach to extend outside the line.
I'm outside the box, into the rectangle.
It's the shell, the hard skin.
The destined fate the world has given us,
they see us all as part of the same extending line.
I cut the corner, into a new direction seeking a different path.
But yet I receive laughs and get mocked.
Trapped in the imagery, this imaginary box.
I paint the image purple yet all they see is black.
No chance to set forth a new goal.
Why bother with this kid!?
He's just like the others!
They all seem the same to me.
Bunch of hooligans, disturbing the peace.
He thinks he can change our minds, our views are steadfast.
There's no need for you to try.
Why bother writing these poems?
There's no words that will change our minds.
Yet I still scribble and doodle hoping one day they'll pass the misread title,
to open the page and read my words until the end of the last chapter,
to further understand.
And open some minds that will read outside the lines-in between the letters-and comprehend the message.
That purple image often seen as just black.
But, Why bother?
Their stubbornness won't give a person like me the chance.
They have their backs turned without even giving a glance.
I stand by myself in the corner,
pleading for a read.
Maybe they'll learn to appreciate my image when my fingers finally bleed.