Poems or something...
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- Parts 29
Apparently I'm confusing my brain.
But that isn't weird when the fact is that I am trying to trick my brain into happiness.
A paperbag would have been good as a barrier over the head of mine.
A barrier to protect my psyche from the evil eyes, also called society.
They're staring the soul out of me and shooting anxiety-spells.
The tears can stream in truly freedom under that bag.
Even though I'm pretty, I am not pretty enough for myself.
Under the bag I can't stand in front of a mirror and create false fucking brain ghosts.
Nothing can reach me under that paperbag, not even the truth. And the truth is that this is a stupid idea. Take care of your mental illness in some kind of way instead of ignoring your psyche when it's crying for help.
(An example of the poems that I'm writing🌿<3)
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