I stand apart, I always see,
A world that's not meant quite for me.
They laugh, they talk, they move in stride,
But I don't feel the need to hide.
I watch them from the outer line,
Their world is theirs, but mine is mine.
I don't belong, and that's okay—
I'd rather live my quiet way.
They call me strange, they call me cold,
But I don't mind, I won't be sold.
For in the space where I reside,
I find my truth, my peace, my pride.
I don't need crowds, the praise, the scene,
I walk alone, but feel serene.
While they all chase what's in their sight,
I find my joy in endless night.
I am the outsider, standing free,
No need to fit where I can't be.
I choose the quiet, choose the space,
And in this freedom, I find grace.
YOU ARE READING
She's antiromantique
PoesieShe was heartbroken, instead of the revenge she wrote, she wrote like no one else ever did, every feeling, every sense of discomfort, every thought, was written down, in every book corner, every piece of paper, every napkin, knowing that all of them...
