I've been squeezing so had I've worn the colors off my pencil
I keep trying to write, and trying to let go
It's hard though, to molt out of the shell you once called your home
That collection of opinions, mindsets, and traits you called your own
If I am not the person that I once was, then who am I in the interim between now and when I am who I will become?
When I let go of all that makes me me, how can I be sure that I won't end up empty?
How can I be sure I will have the opportunity when I've been given no guarantee?
This is the risk everyone keeps saying I must take,
am I the only one who's afraid it may be a mistake?
Why does it feel like I'm conforming for you?
Changing myself, even though no one asked me to.
If this is the cost I must pay to fit in,
Then I'm not sure I can call this new me a 'win".
This isn't me, and now I miss myself
Why is the new me still crying for help?
YOU ARE READING
Evolution Of Everything
PoezieA collection of poems, spoken word, and verbal processing. It's mostly here as a reminder for me of where I was and where I am, so that I never forget. Some of them are silly and fun, but most of them are deeply personal accounts of some of my harde...
