I’m new to letting the world understand me.
Knowing who I am, my real self, is a privilege.
Many aren’t given the chance.
I’d rather be a scattered puzzle,
than another pretty face.
Porcelain always seemed too fragile.
Solid and heavy,
from my words to my eyes,
made an impression nobody forgets.
I’d rather pierce your memory,
than decorate the world.
Trends come and go.
Happiness is something we always search for.
Success is determined by meaningless actions.
We live to please, not experience.
It’s “too scary to get hurt”.
I’d rather be a woman
that exasperated what ‘could be’,
than a check list
of what society expected me to achieve.
I’m a tragedy
that wants to be remembered
for its effort, tears, and laughs,
not it’s inability to fit in