I’m frightened,
inside my own sanctuary.
I’m exhausted,
while having my rest.
I’m breaking down,
in between my joyful days.
I’m giving up,
even in my hardest fights.
I’m blind,
although the lights are blaring.
I’m dead,
but not my beating heart.
It still stings,
for 23 years,
where those hands had left marks on my skin.
It still burns,
for each and every night,
whenever I remember being a disgrace.
I rise up,
only when I’m alone.
I tumble back down,
only when I return.
I see wars.
I hear roars.
I feel sores.
I never want to wake up,
if all I ever see is a disappointment in those eyes.
I never want to make sounds,
if all I ever say is always an aberration for the ears.
I never want to give hopes,
if all I ever do is such regret for your sakes.
I have been brawling this quarrel,
for my whole life,
living under expectations,
asking a place that I cannot simply earn,
not until I have no comparisons.
Let me be.
Set me free.
I’m always lost as someone else.
Who am I?
What will I ever be?
I am never in the right headspace of yours,
or anybody’s.
FreeWords 