Metamorphasize

Lacrymosa**

People of courage,

people of strength.

leaders hidden in plain sight,

followers lost in the crowd.

how can this work;

she adapts, grows,

continuing her struggle.

her struggle to succeed, to grow, and to encourage others.

how can she feel so lost and broken, shattered from the inside out.

lifting the spirit of others.

like a goddess with a ending of tragedy,

completely unaware that it will never stop.

but continuing with the hope that an end will come and she wants to go doing what's she has always done.

helping others in ways she cannot see.

hoping that the truth she gives is as pleasing as the lies others share without thought.

prayers wash across her face, flooding her mind with worry for others as she gives them away,

to a bigger force, the force that allows her to continue her life, a struggle, an unnamed grace.

I can't change who I am, I wont lie and try to, if I do I wont encourage others, I slowly fade away.

my words leaving more of an impact than anything else,

hopefully the words of faith and strength.

if I continue, they might just encourage a quick end for my hope. the hope that has changed.

from flowy whites, golds, cremes, and pinks, to blacks

glistening in the heat, showing that I am only human.

can I go back to what I was before?

many doubt my ability, saying I went down an inevitable one way street,

a street of abnormalities,

the street that stole the smile from my face, as medications become the manifestation of my dependency on others, and my hatred for needing them.

the smile was never mine, was it?

Janice, my loving aunt, who smiled until she was taken by the monster that threatens us all.

Cancer, the catalyst of my small-minded, and short lived life.

freeing me in the eyes of others, but trapping me with every tear I held back.

vowing to live like her, trying to live like God, but hoping I'm like her as well.

like my mom, I'm drawn to the darkness, becoming more vocal and bold, but losing my childhood with every layer of black eyeliner and mascara I use.

I'd stop, I should, but I don't, I cant I wont,

Why?

I love this, I love showing how Ive felt for so long in what covers my sinful skin.

I notice more people like me, once they do this, they don't go back but I do.

does that make me fake?

or just human, refusing to be put into a category. No one is one thing and if they believe that they have, I must've been to late,

to late to tell them not to believe the lies, the stigmas placed on them, this limits...

things that have been forced upon them since the beginning.

revolting from social norms, the limits my friends put on me in an attempt to joke or to help.

How can I be the only who feels this way, who doesn't want to fit in, not always. I never really did,

so why start now?

why do that, is it another form of armor?

like the smile I hid behind?

the smile I muster when I don't know what to do, the habit that hides the parts of me I cannot see for myself.

All I know is, everyone tries to figure me out, will I let them, did they already?

I shouldn't care, should I?

how can I stop? when did I ever start?

Maybe I'll just be on my own, my silent revolution!

the silence that speaks, the voice that is silent but screams louder than those who never shut up.

let all those who despise me do so. I am a believer, a flower, child, a goth.

a contradiction in a dress and combat boots.

tights and shorts.

makeup and glasses. thick rims and all.

I can't change who I am.