495 were the days I cried
Thinking it was better if I just died.
495 were the photos I took
Criticising and hating how I looked.
495 were the butterflies I fed
That left me with nothing, but regret.
495 were the disappointments, the fears
The ideas in my head, the dreams I had.
I spent days lying in my bed,
my little personal cage
And I spent days hating myself,
hurt by my own rage.
Oh, self esteem is so rare this decade
I'm scared to die, but sometimes
I do really want to fade.
But today, I do really want to stay.
495 are the days I smile
Grateful for still being alive.
495 are the photos I took
Accepting and loving the way I look.
495 are the butterflies I feed
And they live freely in me.
495 are the opportunities
The over-comings
The ideas in my head
The dreams I still have.
YOU ARE READING
MY SIDE OF THE STORY
PoetryDuring the past few years I found out that people I used to be friends with would talk about me behind the scenes, creating their own scripts and scenarios & making me the villain in their own story. Not only that, the general public, along with soc...
