Mocked

I live underground,
beneath the soil I trod,
under a layer of dirt,
under a layer of sod,

in a hill,
away from the world,
banished from civilization,
like a wolf in the stories told,

mocked by those of my creation,
thrown from the town of my construction,
away from my world,
because of my depiction,

among my people,
whose hair match their eyes,
anywhere from navy,
to the most brilliant white,

they have sky blue skin,
and wear purple clothes,
billowing freely,
in the wind that does blow,

an outsider unlike others,
unable to avoid their stares,
following me everywhere,
even to my most secret layer...