I wish I could be
Someone who is admired by everyone.
Tried my best to be liked,
But I always end up having a fight
with myself.
Why wasn't I born pretty?
What's the point of being smart if the society judges you by looks?
Why was I born cold?
What's the point of being friendly if at the end, you know they'll turn their backs?
Why was I born insecure?
And I don't see my point.
Signs of immaturity,
Or maybe,
Just pure uncontentment.
YOU ARE READING
Overdosed
PoetryA collection of poems. From the heart. By the fingers. Through the mind.
