Accepted.


I’m tired. The world simply is no place for someone that seems to dip into the lows more than highs, that seems to wreck herself and salvage the pieces all in one night.

The world is too strong for people like us, who wither and wilt at the first sign of danger. We’re not ready for what’s about to be thrown at us. I doubt we’d ever be ready.

There is little worth I can bring to my own life. I am stewing in a pot of my own misery, waiting for a day to come by where I’ll get saved.

Yet, I fail to realise that I am my own saving grace, that no knight in shining armour can ever exist and that the world is a deep vat of agony but if I stir long enough, it may change into acceptance.

We’re not always going to be this way, you know?

I think the thicker skin we build, the harder it becomes for people to break our walls. We are nothing but a wall of opinions that we have created by establishing ourselves as slaves to the needs of others.

And I confine myself to these sordid ideals, refusing to own my heart and wear it on my sleeve. Devoid of any emotion.

Haphazard thoughts are the only constant I have left. Maybe, I can understand myself if I think less, talk slower, walk quicker. If I do what they want, I become what they want. I become what I want.

Accepted.

I’m tired. The world is no place for someone who refuses to fit into a version of perfection.

The world is no place for me.

Misery.

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I spend my days lifelessly counting my blessings, yet doing nothing about them.

I spend my life recklessly dreaming about boys who don’t care, and people who don’t matter.

I wonder how they have the ability to judge my character, yet I allow them to do so, without uttering one word.

Maybe they do speak the truth, yet is the truth worthy of pain?

I have fought, and struggled yet I am not what I wish to be, I am no where near who I wish to be. All I have done is believe in myself, but even the depths of my soul are beginning to lose faith.

I learn more from my failure then from my success. I edge over each milestone and rejoice yet agonise over each obstacle.

I am frustrated, I am frustrated with this fight, I cannot bear it any longer than I have willed myself to, yet I am still here, still strong, still fighting.

I am weary of this confusion. I do not know what my life has become, I do not know who I’ve become and I know that’ll soon be my downfall.

Perhaps I must venture into the unknown, fall into the traps of destruction and rise; rise and seek the root of my misery.

A Letter To The Boy I Love.

 
 
The world is an empty place, left to be lit by people that make you smile with each encounter, that drive you to the brink of insanity with each word, but leave you loving them more than anyone else, each and every time. 

You’ve done that to me.

You’ve taken me for a ride I’ll never recover from. I’ve travelled through a symphony of euphoria, and a cacophony of anguish, only to be left wondering what more to expect.

You’ve transformed me, and left me to myself. You’ve broken me, and never looked back. I blame myself for allowing you to infiltrate the walls that protect my heart, yet I blame you for capturing my soul and refusing to return it.

I’m road-rage, a manic disorder of epic proportions, and you accepted it. You saw the wonder in me, the beauty in the panic and the strength in my cries.

But I’ve changed since the day I met you. 

You have too, a mesmerising yet heartbreaking realisation that I wake up with everyday. I tell myself that you aren’t any different, but I know that you’ll never be the person you were before me.

And I’ll never be the same again. 

I know it’s not much.

But I’ll always love you.