What Am I?

I’m everything except a somebody.
I’m always viewed as a non-entity.
I was left behind as a nobody.
So they would never find the end of me.

I was deprived a personality.
Left stood alone like a book on a shelf.
What am I, to be kept from being free.
What am I, to have been stripped of myself.

When my clammy hands can only catch tears.
The tears of sorrow that run down my face.
The only thing that went waste, was years.
Those years I had took, to find my own my place.

To my life that I am forced to live by.
I constantly ask myself: “What Am I?”