Rebellious Love

It was a sunny and tranquil Monday.
The excruciatingly blue and limitless sky is becoming a home for the numerous moving clouds,
the distant yellow sun is taking a little vacation,
the city's alleyways are being traversed by a brisk, crisp wind that is contacting everything and everyone it comes into contact with,
it is banging on windows,
swaying the lush green trees to its own rhythm,
And pushing people through as they march steadily towards their intricate routines.
I take a small sip of my bitter, early-morning coffee,
as I, just like the others, proceed to go through my remarkable day.
It is the seventeenth day of this drab and tiresome month.
When one is by himself, they begin to understand things in a different way,
looking towards the distance for longer than you're supposed to.
taking pleasure in the sun's steady warmth,
observing the many little details throughout the day,
holding on to anything little and joyful,
clinging into whatever hope there may be,
climbing trees to gain a new perspective on this ghastly world,
doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
living each day as the day before it,
trapped into the eternal and secret prison they call routine,
Until we let ourselves go.
The coffee has gone cold,
it is almost 9:00 am and I am running late for my disagreeable but important work.
I discard the plastic cup,
and steadily walk,
to fight through 5:00 pm for yet another day.

These days, I have inconsistent memory,
hazy mental images,
trouble recalling specific details,
and a constant sense of disbelief,
I have no idea what actually occurred and what did not.
However, a few tiny fragments are still present.
I remember when I first bumped into you,
I was struck by the gleam in your eyes,
experienced a sensation that I have never known before,
I understood that 'overwhelming' had a much deeper meaning.
your unrivalled beauty enthralled me.
it was one of those rare occasions when you are unsure of whether something is true or not.
Everything happened too quickly,
you flooded my heart like the colors flood the sky with a multitude of shades,
tones and hues,
in perfect harmony,
your sublime beauty enraptures my soul.
After just one look, I had fallen deeply in love,
everything changed with only a glance.
I felt vibrant.
No one else in this entire world, in my opinion, is capable of making me feel even close to how you do.
Not your normal love story, this one.
And the beauty of beginnings had no influence on me.
I recently heard someone say that occasionally you can tell right away if someone is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with.
I never believed in that.
I believed that the magic of beginnings can sometimes mask the absolute value of something.
But I gave up on all my beliefs once I met you.
I had enough courage to trust love one more time for you,
perhaps things would go in a less circuitous route.
The world may think I am foolish,
they can't see you like I can.
You have been mistreated in this cruel world,
and they have failed to recognise your amazing worth.
You overcame your demons,
you used your scars as a wing,
defeated those who opposed you and grinned at those who attempted to undermine you.
Despite everything you've been through,
you're standing right in front of me now,
tossing your long, curly hair over your shoulder,
confidently approaching the barista while ordering a dangerously potent espresso,
I didn't realise that the entire time I was staring at you in awe,
wondering how someone could go beyond the bounds of perfection.

Life happens at you quickly.
I became ill.
According to the physicians, it is a rare variety of cancer that is terminal.
Once you hear that horrible word, everything in your life is changed
because from that point on, every single second counts.
When I initially received the bad news, I was horrified.
It hit me quickly the first time, and then it continued to hit me every day after that,
rubbing salt into the wounds it had already caused,
wandering around my helpless organs,
leaving me vulnerable,
bed-bound,
and incredibly weak.
All of your past errors,
the things you regret,
and your underachievement over the arduous and adventurous ride you had in life eventually lose their importance.
Nothing else counts once you are on death row, yet as far as I can recall, I had a respectable life.
Everyone I know eventually disappears.
The most basic truth of existence is that death is inevitable.
Desperation forces you to think in an alternate way,
clouding your naive mind and injecting it with overwrought imagination,
tricking you into thinking that you could have rectified every little error you've made.
And this happens as I start to accept my cruel fate,
now on what is presumably my death bed,
holding a hand that I've held for thirty-odd years.
The prestigious monitors to which I'm linked begin to incessantly beep,
singing out of time,
illuminating the ceiling with vivid hues,
causing a commotion in my dreary room as others rush inside.
They did everything they could to save me and keep me on this lifeless planet,
but I let them down.
I got too far away and no one could save me.
My life is being replayed as I slowly close my eyes for the final time.
I am dying away while holding a delicate hand and wearing a slight grin.
I can only see complete blackness as my wretched spirit begins to go from this broken body.
However,
I was certain of one thing:
the hand I was grasping wasn't yours,
and she wasn't you.
I wonder if I could start over,
I'm not sure if I would keep myself,
but I would find a way to keep you.

The Devil's Mistress

I placed you in a dark brown wooden case infested with mold and rust,
And I tossed the golden key some place I no longer visit,
I thought I buried you,
I covered the tracks.
I was careful not to look at the place too much so I don't subconsciously remember it.
I believed that.
I believed that was a chapter of my life that I was never going to visit again.
It was supposed to be a perfect plan.
Flawless.
But somewhere between planning and execution,
I probably have missed something.
And you managed to escape from all that,
and find a way back to me.
Haunting me,
Trying everything you can to trick me,
Manipulate me,
Until you take utter control.
And I am sat there helplessly surrendering to your mysterious power.
I am frail to your irrational desires.
Lying down on the rough stony ground,
Looking at your demonic eyes,
Reaching my arm as far as I possibly can,
Trying to push you away with my unaided strength,
Incapable of standing up on my delicate feet,
In complete submission to your mythical dominance.
There is nothing else I can do,
Other than allow you to take control over my slim body and my mortal soul.

My life is a constant struggle between my need for acceptance,
my fear of rejection,
and a desire to not care at all.
I lost the will to fight a long time ago,
I misplaced most of the thin pieces inside me,
My rebellious blood loses its' way through my veins' tortuosity,
My thoughts are astray.
My worried mind wanders too often through the cold and dark nights,
It gets hard to make sense of things eventually.
I am praying for something that makes me feel alive.
Something that makes life hurt less.
I lost everything I stand for,
Somewhere between the battle of rights and wrongs.  
I cannot hide what's on my impatient mind,
Any my felonious heart feeds on the cruel lies when it gets hungry.

Another lucid and golden morning comes,
As it always does.
I get out of bed drenched in my own tears and sweat,
I have fought for too many sleepless nights,
I stood up for you on every single occasion.
You somehow always have a plan to turn everything around the way you want.
This time I lose.
I can't put words together in sentences strong enough to repel you,
Tears gushing down from these hurt brown eyes,
Escaping their lonely reservoir,
Running through these papers,
Fusing with this indelible ink,
Adding a full stop half through my sentences,
Destroying everything I have been working on.
It was inevitable.
You reminded me of parts of me I never wanted to meet again,
parts I have been hiding away through all these anguished years.
The pale sickle moon can't keep spinning around this naked earth forever,
Running around in flawless circles,
In an infinite universe.
And just like the moon I reflect you,
I am looking at the broken mirror right across of me.
Maybe I am the monster,
Perhaps,
Loving ourselves is hard because we find it so difficult to forgive ourselves,
No matter how cruel or ugly I became,
I blamed it on you.
But today I believe,
Certain doors are meant to be closed,
Locked forever,
I push a bare rickety table against your door,
And there,
Beneath that wobbling table,
There is where you will find me.

Afterlife

Some steps you have to take alone,
It is the only way you can figure out where you need to go and who you want to be.
One day,
I decided to take a step on this steep and rather rickety ladder of life,
Maybe it hurt less than standing still.
My hideous incarnate demons often manage to get the best of me,
halting any minor progress I make.
It seems that, for some reason, they always had an overwhelming advantage.
Perhaps I have been avoiding fighting for too long that they became too powerful and immortal.
Monsters can be created but they can never be tamed.
I look down at the steps of the ladder that I have hardly passed,
And then I look up for the bright skinny light shining from above,
Maybe there is a distal end to this,
One way or another.
I do not think I still have any more energy left in me to continue,
And I have made so much progress to let go.
Stuck on the same step for quite some time now.
Maybe, sometimes, it is easier to accept the mundane reality than to push for unachievable limits.

There is something horrifyingly beautiful about darkness.
Something about not knowing your surroundings or not seeing the colors of things as they appear.
There is something about the unknown,
Being in this temporary secluded place,
There are unspoken words about darkness and its unmatched beauty.
I have found comfort where I am,
Surrounded by blackness in every single direction I look.
I became so used to the darkness that it no longer scares me,
I am more surprised by the light when it breaks through these well's walls.
Exposing everything around me,
Reflecting across the stagnant water underneath my trembling feet,
And shining on those moldy brick walls around me.
The time when the sun breaks through the distant sky ironically became my least favorite time of the day,
Maybe, sometimes, it is better not to know where you are in your mental interplanetary journey.
Perhaps, not knowing is a greater blessing.
I do not want to know how many rusty steps I have left to the top,
I do not care about the disappointingly slow progress I have made so far,
I have accepted the shadows,
And they have accepted me,
Perhaps I have become a malevolent demon myself,
Maybe we are not all ought to grow up as radiant and mighty angels,
We do not get to choose sides,
There is probably an underlying sinister wisdom in keeping it unevenly balanced.

My clumsy hands are getting tired of holding in to this cold metal,
My brain is too fogged up with intrusive thoughts to let go,
I do not know if there is actually an end to this cruel well,
I do not remember how I got here in the first place,
What am I doing here, and how did I get here?
Is this supposed to be one of those tests from the mighty god?
Or am I trapped in someone else's universe?
It is pitiful.
This intensely unorganized life has lost its' value a long time ago,
There is no point in holding on anymore,
Nothing worth fighting for,
No one is waiting on the other side.
I am alone in this dreadful battle,
Surrounded by mold, rust and rancid smell occupying the space I settled in.
I feel so small.
I think hope is a desperate attempt to falsify the truth,
And I ran out of things to wish for.
I no longer have enough belief in anything.
''Almosts'' will always haunt me,
I almost made it out of this bizarre place.
''I almost''.
I have said that over a million times.
I look down,
Maybe this cold sulfurous water is not that unpleasant.
I look up,
And on my restless face,
a weak and humorless smile appears.
I sometimes cannot comprehend the unpredictability of life.
A silent and unnoticed tear makes its' way down my smudged cheek.
I do not want to feel anything anymore.
I let go.
Freefalling into the uncertainty,
Unparalleled gravity pulls me through the countless brick walls.
The light at the top feels smaller and the circle closes.
My scarred body makes contact with the water causing a noisy splash,
I hit my head on the concrete floor of the well,
I have finally found numbing and false peace,
as I count my last seconds in this hideous place.
I have accepted my brutal faith,
There was nothing worth holding on to anymore.
I let go,
As I should have a long time ago.

Intrepid

Life happens to you quickly,
One day you're on the top of an inaccessible pyramid-shaped mountain,
Looking down on those who crossed paths with you.
The other day you are back to where you came from,
The lonesome and cold hell that you have created for yourself.
And between this and that are brief moments that we live for.
It all sounds like a dream that you can't wake up from,
A vicious cycle of emotions,
Changing worlds,
A sun with rays that no longer provide heat,
An upside-down tree with no leaves,
A vivid orange sky,
And ruthless thoughts that follow you wherever you go,
And then,
There's you,
Wandering around in the wilderness,
Going on another trip trying to figure out who you are,
And what led you to this alternate universe?

Nothing matters anymore.
Words lose their value after they have been tossed around repeatedly,
All doors close,
And you stand there alone,
Surrounded by darkness and emptiness,
Everything hits at once,
All your underachievements, your failures, the dreams you gave up on, the lies you told yourself so you can move on, 
Everything comes back to you to stab you in the back.
And you are left wondering,
If any of that was worth it at all,
Or why did I start doing this in the first place?
Living in an alternate reality,
Where everything and nothing makes sense at the same time,
and oftentimes you find yourself standing on the edge,
Waiting for something spectacular to happen,
Something to turn your life around,
Or someone?
But as I previously said,
Nothing matters anymore,
And we're all prisoners trying to understand the complexity of life,
Eagerly looking for a reason to continue,
A reason to hold on.

Life or death.
Do or die.
I don't want to feel like I did last night,
This constant feeling of unpredictability.
I have been running all my life I have no energy left in me.
I wonder how much of myself I can't translate into words,
How much of me I don't even know,
Lost in translation.
Words can't do these feelings any justice.
Life begins and ends in this infinite place called the present,
Whatever is left in the past is irrelevant,
And the future is an uncertainty of its' own that the mind can't try to comprehend.
Death lurks around the corner,
Waiting on you to make a mistake,
Looking at you from afar hoping for the perfect moment to make ends meet.
I think it's both a burden and a blessing to feel everything as deeply as I do,
I don't know what to feel or what I want to feel,
I don't know what to think,
Or what I am.

Phantoms

I am re-writing my life,
I used to believe I was the great unselfish savior everyone was looking for,
But as I got older,
I can no longer carry the weight of this monochromic world on these aching shoulders,
I take off my simple and obviously cheap costume,
As for now,
I am trying to save whatever is left of me.

I desire very little,
But the things I do consume me.
Sometimes you expect too much from someone because you'd do that much for them,
And it backfires on you,
Running around in circles,
Headless chicken,
In constant search for non-achievable goals,
We let ourselves down before we let anyone else,
And we do this over and over,
Until our fragile minds can no longer process,
And we fall to the ground,
Fatigued,
Hopeless,
Broken to the core.
As of today,
We're just little souls carrying around our corpses in this twisty maze called life.

That's the thing with words;
Books are easily destroyed but words will live as long as people can remember them.
And with those many articulate words, I am going to proceed to further explain this extravagant complexity of peoples' connections.
I will leave an imprint on your heart that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me to understand you,
But I am not special.
I am not a hero anymore.
I have nothing to prove anymore.
I sometimes just wish we could put down our rose-colored sunglasses and look into the true colors of this allegedly astonishing life.
You were so good at seeing people, I wish you could see yourself clearly.
But I can not remember anymore, 
I am an amnesiac.
Every time I remember you,
I alter you.
I want to remember the beautiful painting I drew of you in my head rather than the real you.
Another painting going on the blank high walls of the prison of memories,
Cautiously placed.
Preserved.
Permanent.
I will use words to my favor,
But I can not speak about it.
And To burn inside with passionate desire, and not to speak of it, is the most atrocious punishment we can inflict on ourselves.
I am an amnesiac.
I forget when it matters most to remember.
I forgot that I let myself, let you, let everyone down.
I forgot that I care for everyone's happiness, but forget about my own.
I am not a hero.
I can not be one anymore.
I can never find my way out of this maze, and neither can I guide anyone out of it.
I have lost my sensorial powers.
But let us take a break,
It is better that we do not talk about our pains now,
Let us gaze at the sky in silence.
Maybe this glorious full moon can change the way we handle our pain.
Maybe if I think hard enough I can change how I deal with this.
Ifs and Maybes,
No absolutes.

I looked at words as if I was seeing them for the first time.
Perhaps there was a different meaning hiding between the lines,
Maybe I missed something.
Maybe life is all the wonderful things that may happen if you break the ropes that are holding you.
Or is it the other way around?
We believed in magic.
As an answer to all our problems.
We believed in planets, moons, and suns and however they move,
As an explanation of how powerless we became.
Dancing to our own rhythm through this mundane life.
Holding hands as we believed.
We believed in anything that made enough sense for us to believe.
Entangled words.
Twisted ideas.
Common religion.
Magic.
No power was strong enough as we were hypnotized to hold on.
Even if letting go always made more sense.
We were superheroes in this story.
Fighting against everything until we emerge victorious.
But maybe destroying things is just who we are.
In order for us to prevail, we damaged.
A different kind of superhero.
We were never going to take a momentary loss.
But the loss we took was irreparable.

Turn away.
Maybe I am too obsessed to find someone to love because I can't love myself,
Maybe all my colors just do not mix well.
And all those pieces of me do not glue together as they are supposed to.
Maybe I am broken.
I think I will never find eternal happiness,
As long as your memory burns in me like an infinite sun of love.
Provided that I am in this endless passive cycle of self-blame.
I am not trying to change.
I can't change it.
I became this.
Maybe my passion is nothing special.
Perhaps I am still looking around for it.
But today,
I am re-writing my life.
And If you hate my story,
I am sorry it was not written for you.

Desire and Fate

It is a cloudless, remarkably hot, and sultry late-summer day in the dreadful and inexhaustible city of Lucky Springs. The days are warm and humid while the nights, however, are charmingly mild and balmy at this time of the year. Summer has always been a festive, busy, and somewhat fragmented season. I have always admired these few months when it's cool in the morning and warm throughout the day. 

The sight of the remote yellow sun has regularly been energizing for me, the slender electric rays oozing through my window every morning have always been joyful and somewhat refreshing for me, these transient moments of warmth are something I hugely value.

There's something special about summer; the heartwarming feeling when summer is just around the corner, the excitement about plans and goals you wish to accomplish, and the late night drives through the relatively narrow and crowded streets of the city all contribute to making this season a favorite for many people, at least it is for me.

I haven't written an entry in this journal for a sore long time, I have my hectic and eventful life to blame for that. It's Saturday, and that means that my brisk two-week vacation is over and tomorrow marks the beginning of another exhausting year at the firm where I worked for the past five years. I am a stockbroker, a nine-to-five job, five days a week. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, it's what I have always wanted to be. It's just that sometimes I feel trapped behind this desk, and all I can see is this set of numbers floating around the computer screen.
It's finally 5 pm, I make my way through the hustle and bustle of the company towards the excruciatingly slow and bumpy elevator and eventually to my 98' Toyota Corolla parked somewhere within the open and high-ceilinged garage, A brief moment of comfort when I finally get inside the car, my little special 'comfort zone' that I particularly appreciate at the end of each day and highly value.

I take off my black jacket and the bright red tie that I carefully chose in the morning and toss them over the back seat. I loosen up the first two buttons of my long-sleeved white shirt and I turn on the radio to have some company along the road. I embrace myself for a long, tortuous, and mournful drive back home. I have constantly loathed driving in this city, it's chaotic and messy, and the lack of scenery along with the congested streets and the reckless and exhilarating driving skills of the other drivers around me are going to drive me insane one day. The bad thing is that you can't do anything about it, all you have to do is to contain yourself and try not to have a breakdown through it, five days a week, if that's not a test of patience I don't know what is.

I have always wondered about what other people are doing with their lives and how are they dealing with their own problems. It has always been fascinating for me to indulge myself in my imagination and let my mind breathe a different sort of air while I am stuck in this heavily packed traffic. And for a minute or two, I forget about my hideous daily routine, unaccomplished goals, and the unbearable traffic. It made me believe that once you start to think of the problems of others you forget your own. So I made it a habit; Once I turn into the main street, I turn off the radio and begin to roll into a series of thoughts of all the possible imaginary scenarios that I have created in my head for strangers driving beside me. It helps kill time, plus after all those hours at work, I need a little bit of time to clear my head and drift my thoughts away from me.

One final turn, I park my not-so-luxurious car in the small and outdoor cemented garage of the building where I live. I truly love this neighborhood; It's quiet and peaceful but at the same time it's not too far away from all the big lights of the city. I grab my stuff from the back seat and close the door gently. I look up to the painfully blue sky and wonder how I missed the genuine beauty of it while I was locked in the work, behind a computer screen, dozens of documents, and a telephone.

I walk strongly towards the building's door that was strangely left open by one of my neighbors. I make my way through the long, narrow, and steep stairs all the way up to the fifth floor because I thought to rent the top apartment in a building without an elevator was a good idea. I fancied the view from the top; the spacious balcony that had a broad field of vision over the neighborhood, it was one of the reasons that tempted me to rent this place.

I put my hand into the pocket of my trousers searching anxiously for the keys. With soft and slightly moist hands I turn the key in the door lock and push the heavy wood-paneled door lightly. I turn on the lights and walk straight towards the bedroom. I sigh and lay my fatigued body over the exquisitely comfortable bed as in this exact moment, I have made it through another day, I have survived today.

I embrace this moment of each day tightly; Despite how lonely and dull it is, I have reached another 'checkpoint'; A fresh breath of air, a state of tranquility. Routine defined me, took control over my thoughts and ambitions, and drove me into becoming someone I cannot relate to. And I wonder, are we all fighting through a life we did not genuinely want, or is this how adulthood really is?

I think I became more of someone rather than my unique self; This rather boring routine has shaped the way I behave. It feels like I have no space left for all those ideas and thoughts inside my head. And all those dreams that I aspired to accomplish, they're hanged out to dry.

You cannot find peace by avoiding life; If I quit today, what difference would that make?

We often think that leaving a place where we were trapped for a long time would actually help us get back on our feet.

But I am not sure, I am not sure of anything anymore.
I come back to my small and immaculately clean apartment, where I have spent countless nights staring through the big and translucent windows, looking for something to motivate me.
But it's empty; I am the only one living here. And it gets lonely, cold, and achingly boring.

I surrendered to my fate; That this awful and rustic life is what I deserve.
And all those desires that I had, all those dreams, all those ideas will be gone tomorrow morning when I wake up, get dressed, and continue doing the same things that got me here in the first place.
I am free to go anywhere I want, as long as I stay in the maze.
I often wear a smile to hide that I've been hurt before, 

I try so hard to forget what I wanted to remember.

I am too young to hate this world this much.

Maybe this world is another planet's hell.

Maybe we are ought to suffer to grow.
The abysmal globe spins around itself in the wonderful and infinite space.
And as it rolls, it swings all those tumbled bodies around, knocking them down, only to see them get up again in the morning.

Fate doesn't care about your plans.
You can only reach what you truly desire.
And the constant battle between the two would always leave one wondering;
Is anything I do worth it at all?
Or am I just passing time in this life?
I rest my head on my soft fussy pillow,
I close my sad tired eyes.
And I hope tomorrow is a better day.

I am lost.

I will always be locked in this maze, no matter which route I take, they are all dead-ends.

And no matter what I do, nothing changes.

I will go home.
I will be bored.
No one will listen to me, really listen to me.
I am too quiet for them to understand.
I am too clever for myself to figure out.

I am made of a radiant constellation of bold ideas, unusually vivid and perspective dreams, and uncomfortable yet delightful thoughts all locked in a mysterious strong box.
I can't find the special key.
I think I never will.

The apartments' wooden paneled doors are closing in on me.

The windows turned puzzlingly dim,

Cruel western wind blowing through,

Everything is floating defying gravity,

My documents, my briefcase, my computer, and even my couch are all up in the air,
I am feeling everything at once,
My average, routine life flashes before my eyes.
My head is going to explode,
My young and faithful heart is beating on a different rhythm.
I cease to exist.

I wake up.

It's Summer in Lucky Springs.
Tears fall from my beaten eyes.
I am here to live another day.
I have to get dressed. 

And power through another day.
The trick in life is knowing how to deal with it,
And this is the only way I know.
I put on my long-sleeved open-necked shirt,
And I think,
Death will never be the greatest loss in life,
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
And I march on,
Dead inside,
Wearing a fake crooked smile,
And ready to take the cruel world on.

Orion

We mature with damage.
Experience is the best teacher,
and the worst experiences,
teach the best lessons.
It's a brutal teacher,
but you learn fast.

The illusion that times that were are better than those that are,
has probably pervaded all ages.
You never get over it,
But you get to a point where it doesn't bother you as much.
The heart surrenders everything to the moment,
The mind judges and holds back.
I am homesick all the time,
I just don't know where home is.
There's this promise of happiness out there.
I know it, 
I even can feel it at times,
But it is like chasing the moon,
The moment I think I have it,
it disappears into the horizon.

What worries you,
masters you.
I expect so much from myself,
from my mind and my body,
that it is only fair to say sorry.
Sorry for complaining about being tired,
without having rested properly.
Sorry for overloading my mind with things and expecting to do everything perfectly.
Sorry for forgetting that I am not a machine and I can break down.
I am always careful not to hurt everyone's feelings,
But I never consider that I also need to apologize to myself for everything I put me through.

The sky is so tragically beautiful,
A graveyard of stars.
And just like the sky,
My heart is a slave of your memory,
A graveyard of emotions.
I am so obsessed with finding someone to love me
because I can't love myself.
It is sad, isn't it?
I once thought worlds of you,
and now you're just another lesson.
We tell our stories differently,
don't we,
you and I?
I am awfully difficult.
But I do know when I love someone,
And I have loved you ever since I can remember.
And if I had another heart,
I would let you break that one too.
All hearts crave love,
even the bitter ones.

These are the days that must happen to you.
At the end of the day,
you can either focus on what's tearing you apart,
or what's holding you together.
Every next level of your life,
will demand a different you.
And as I shed my skin for the next level,
I tend to hold on to my old self,
Because maybe,
I am too scared of change.
Maybe,
Sometimes the light shines from the door you forgot you left open.

I am both worse and better than you thought.
I am a different person to different people.
Annoying to one,
Talented to another,
Quiet to a few,
Unknown to many,
But who am I,
To me?
I became so good at pretending,
I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction.
And sometimes,
When I did a really good job of pretending,
I even fooled myself.

People start to heal,
The moment they feel heard.
The soul always knows how to heal itself,
the challenge is to silence the mind.
I have lost and loved and won and cried myself to the person I am today.
Once you have been in the dark,
you learn to appreciate everything that shines.

We're all more than the person we show to everyone else,
At least I hope so,
Because I feel there's more to me than that.
I just haven't had the chance yet to show it.
I feel like I am waiting for something,
that is never going to happen.
I guess you will never get what you deserve,
if you stay with what you tolerate.