She called by various names
The irony of wishing
to be brave but hiding
winced by a simple battle;
who wants to be happy
but living in melancholy
the perfectly imperfect
I am 'she'
and therefore
she is me
The stubborn,
naive, and broke
I am drowning
and drifting away
over and over again
pulling myself out from death
because the world is better off
with me in it
My mind diverged
into a parallel universe
Hope it's not depersonalization
The countless mirrors of myself
"Who are you?" I looked at
the girl in the mirror
wearing a small smile
eyes beamed with no surprise
Is this me?
I guess not.
I choose to be brave
fighting the simple battle in silence
I am happy
looking at the brighter side
of the melancholic life
I am perfectly imperfect
making a difference
to take off the world.
If I am not 'me'
then who am I?
YOU ARE READING
among all other little days
PoetryThere are these feelings we fail to acknowledge. Let's talk about it now, shall we?
