I have so many things to say to you, but let me start with this:
Do you think I can make it? Will I be able to reach the skies?
Touch the clouds and paint them as black as my world
So when it rains, everyone would know the story behind the scars.
It was tragic, but tragedies aren't for everyone,
so I'll wrap them up in a pretty little package
and decorate them with strings and glitter
because it's the lies we sell that make people listen.
Do you think I could do it? Will I be able to do what they did?
Will my voice be heard and my words be felt?
I'm not looking to change the world, I just want to give back
the same hope it gave me when I wanted to clutch onto a knife.
Will I drown them to a cynical mess or convince them with hope?
Can I make them see a world beyond four measly walls?
If my voice right now still isn't enough, when will it be enough?
Will it ever be enough?
If today, I use my smokes and mirrors to construct
A small space where we can finally breathe and feel safe,
a place where the scarred can temporarily shake off their weight,
Am I a fraudulent saviour or another tragic hero for the books?