Poetry

Truth

Do what extent am I supposed to be?

I often ask myself this question when my world comes crumbling down, which in my “perfect world” it is always. Miss judged and understood by everyone around me, I ask myself if I really want to be understood.

Putting these thoughts on paper stimulate tears to run down my face, being the burden I feared I would become. Not having anyone to truly open up to, to listen to my anxious thought and allow me to not want to be.

I wonder what would happen if I had to tell them what really goes on in my head, would my unheard words become a priority, will i finally be stop being told to “snap out of it”.

In my world, everything will be alright, is like winning the lottery; “a true miracle”. I do not want to be told that it will all be fine or to snap out of it. Allow me to struggle to be, to thrive to be, to believe I am not meant to be…

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