I'm standing here, they see right through me.
Inside me hides, what they can't see.
Brave and confident, or scared and weak?
Its all a blur. You don't know my mind, just what I speak.
This performance, hides my personality.
If I'm true to myself, I'll have no destiny.
No one wants a person who may be breathing
But not doing much else, it isn't living.
Not living, just surviving.
But if you had the chance to get to know me,
Would you really know me or another version of myself?
You see,
How do I tell which is the real me?
The one I show my family, friends or the one I want to be?
YOU ARE READING
broken pieces
Poetrya book of poems // individual shards of glass that attempt to piece together my broken soul // TRIGGER WARNING : will probably mention suicide, self-harm, sexual assult, rape, etc. // not all are personal experiences but some are
