Another Book on the Shelf

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

in someone else’s idea of romance.