I wish to have the life of others.
I wish to have the life where I don't have a hard brick problems with my body and a life that I don't have any excuse to get frustrated for being so bloated because why would I be when my body's perfectly flat?
I wish to have the life where everyone could appreciate me at least even just a little bit. The sky was coherently forming imaginary objects, they're perfectly bright and why can't I be?
Its colour satisfyingly painting vivid, why can't I?
The warm blue makes you comfortable and gives you calm, why can't I?
I want to be felt like I belong, that when my existence is not there then the group doesn't feel complete. That when my absence is speaking, the group takes a little low for missing another part of their piece. Than when they're done with their activities, the first thing they do is technology letter me and tell me how much they had missed me and how slightly upset they felt because I didn't come.
I'm sorry I sound so forcer and a little bit of narcissistic, but please just for a moment make me feel like I really so belong to everyone of you.
I wish to have the life of someon who can talk excessively, no conversation will cut to end when they're the one grasping the topic. I'm such a fucking introvert that even just a single word I said makes me anxious and anxiously not sure if they can follow the direction of my topic or not.
I'd rather shut up because even if I exchange words they won't still appreciate what I had just said and just move along to another, crumbling my heads up from conversations because they felt like it's not that important nor not that necessary nor not that something to be considered at all.
I wish to have the life of someone who got a poker face confidence. A conference that they can take up all stage and wouldn't be eaten up even by the very microscopic anxiety facing familiar and unfamiliar faces before them.
I wish to have the life of someone that gets appreciation. Just a simple act, why is it so hard to give?
You can speak that but why can't you form one word from it when it comes to me?
You can sing that but why can't you write a single verse from it when it comes to me?
You can adequately print that into poem qoutes but why does the ink have to ran out when it comes to me?
I wish to have the life of other's who don't dream too much. Being a wrapped up dreamer had transformed me into ambitious and high. I hate the feeling of not appreciating what I have around me, because I keen more than that. How am I supposed to appreciate this beautiful rough petals of a unknown small flowers when I dream more to petals of roses?
How am I supposed to appreciate when city's electricity had gone out when everyone frustratingly needed it?
How am I supposed to appreciate these dim light star when everyone long for the brighter ones?
How am I supposed to appreciate the kissing of my body and ocean's when I'm afraid to swim in it?
Why can't I just be a like other's who doesn't care about small or big things? Do I really need to care about all of those stuff? What if I don't want to? What might happen to choosing being oblivion?
Frequently whispering to let myself cry though unfortunately, what's the point when i knew it won't mend anything and it'll still lively live inside of me.
I just want the life of theirs, so maybe I'll shut up or end it all.
