I'm not good enough.
I wish I could be, but I never was.
Maybe someday.
Or maybe I'll live my life not being enough.
I say to myself that it's okay,
but I'm lying,
and I'll keep doing till I believe.
It's sad,
but I don't know how to do another way.
I get used to be descartable,
a backup plan,
a perfect second choice.
YOU ARE READING
memories of a broken heart
Poetryi'm writing a lot of stuff lately that I think is called poetry (well, for me is just sadness turned into words, but, whatever), i decided to post them here :)
