And my future?
I’m never accepting when it comes to myself.
All my dreams were c r u s h e d
Like an actress in distress.
Wanted to be a teacher, wanted to be a singer.
I wanted to play the d r u m s
I wanted to touch the stars with my bare palms, but remembered not all fairy tails end well.
It’s like a have a deep ocean inside me,
And a small puddle that won’t dry.
A unified bookshelf full of words,
yet not a single one can describe my life.
It feels like I can’t B R E A T H E
When I S P E A K
Of issues around the world,
So I write down all my emotions...
And in the wind let them be blown.
It’s not my dream to become a writer, a poet, a storyteller, I’m Already All That.
And although writing is a therapy session I can afford, I Don’t Know Who I am.
But I know every poem I write is for the innocents who wake up every morning asking: who am I?