Whispers of the Soul

Personality Disorder

Through Their Eyes

In a crowded room, I stand, yet feel alone,
Surrounded by faces, yet none feel like home.
I wear a smile, a mask crafted with care,
But beneath the surface, there's turmoil laid bare.

I see their gazes, curious and cold,
A thousand judgments wrapped in the stories they've told.
Through their eyes, I'm a puzzle, pieces misplaced,
An enigma, a portrait that's been overlaid.

What do they see when they look my way?
A shadow of sorrow, a heart led astray?
Or perhaps a facade, a glossy veneer,
That hides the wild storms, the doubts, and the fear?

I long to escape this relentless review,
To shed this perspective, to start anew.
But their eyes linger, sharp and defined,
Etching my flaws on the canvas of mind.

Each whisper, each glance, feels like a decree,
An echo of judgments I never can see.
I twist in the currents of their expectations,
Drowning in the weight of their silent narrations.

Inside, I am gentle, a spirit that yearns,
For love and acceptance, for healing, for turns.
Yet in their reflections, I'm often unkind,
An imposter, a ghost, forever confined.

Why can't they see me, the depths of my soul?
The dreams that I cherish, the heart that is whole?
But in their perceptions, I fracture and bend,
A fleeting illusion that I can't comprehend.

With each passing moment, I seek to break free,
To find my own vision, to finally see me.
To understand that my worth isn't bound,
By the eyes of the many, but in love that is found.

So I'll learn to embrace the truth of my core,
To silence their echoes, to listen once more.
Through my own eyes, I'll reclaim what is mine,
A tapestry woven with strength that will shine.

For I am a canvas, a work still in progress,
Not defined by their view, but by self-acceptance.
And though I may struggle with the weight of their gaze,
I'll journey within, through the fog, to the blaze.