They call me imbalanced…

As I sit defiant but silent,
Rant soft at the immodest,
Discard my real true self,
Me, a human on market shelf,
I stare at brown, tall, hills,
At sympathetic sparrows on sills,
Like them, I seek profound solace,
In some mystic evasive peace,
Beyond the lagged frustration,
Of unwound, fangless, passion,
Seeking rainbows in cloudless skies,
Breathe kiln air through vaporous flues,
Which relaxes my bones quite dry,
To recall what I learnt, I try.