A failure. I fall, I break; I cannot escape
The burning sensation of wanting to love
Become who I want to be
Become a better me.
I am nothing. Compared to you; the stars are dim
Compared to you my looks are grim
Compared to you; as the sun, I am the lowly Pluto
No one but me has compared me to you though.
I am not worthy of a passing thought; fleeting memory,
Of who I once was, how I used to be.
I used to be their lovely little girl; all prim, but never proper.
I used to love wearing pink, and the dresses that went along
With what they saw; how they were wrong.
Yes, I'm flawed. Yes, I am nothing close to you.
But yes, I know I am only me; and I never want to be you.
The resilience that I've learned, throughout my years
Have made me twist and turn; a knotted flowers' stem.
It has made me see the world, through unholy, thick, and thin.
So, when someone asks; what I want to be,
I can now, truthfully, turn around and say "me."
I've lost myself, many years ago. I was but a hunk of meat
Looking for a soul.
I have my soul, granted it's not the purest; but it is mine.
And I can tell you, like Lucifer; it is divine.
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This, I believe; is truly meant to be spoken aloud. So, feel free to do so. You might, or might not, find a new meaning to my words.
I find; more often than not, that I have this little narrative voice in my head as I write or read different things. It changes drastically when I read a cute story versus a piece by... I don't know; Emily Dickinson? Or, one of her pieces, versus a Shakespearean play/sonnet.
Question of the day:
Does anyone else have this non-binary narrator in their head? Or is it just me?