Why can't they understand
that I'm not the perfect person
they want me to be?
I'm flawed, I'm imperfect,
I made mistakes, and
no matter how I try,
I will remain repeating it.
I fake my smile, my laugh,
I fake my happiness
so they would never see
the sadness in my eyes.
I wear an armor
to shield myself from reality,
to try and become invincible
at least for a little while
until the battle is over.
But maybe I'm doing all these
because I fear them to see who I really am...
p.s. i'm sorry if this made no sense. i was being dramatic as usual.
YOU ARE READING
up in the clouds
Poesíashe felt trapped, or more likely she really was stuck wherever she was. writing poems was her escape out of the black hole she fell in through. whenever she wrote what she had to say and expressed what she had felt, it was almost like she was up in...
