Pressure. Oh I wish I'm not struggling to free away from under.
They continue to push down with words of threats, only bringing me down.
They think it's easy, when in fact, they only suggest the easy way out. . . they're very concern, afraid that I fail on my own; Failure.
The only way I'm going to be able to pick myself up is to fall. . . down to
my own mistakes, aches, for my own sake, this is what I need to endure, this is what I have to take.
Like them, I am also afraid, but I've come to believe in myself. Have they come to believe in me?
I ignore their blasting of rhetorical. A blank mask I put on, only to space them out, I stare at nothing while they resume to pester me with their knowledge about what I should do. In reality, they know nothing.
They compare me to others. They assume nonchalantly. They don't know me.
I feel trapped. Contained in a bubble of oppression: hindering my ability to sprout and nourish On My Own.
Perhaps, they still think I'm the little boy they once adored. They've forgotten that time aged me to this tall, slim, song bird who never stops dreaming.
Now, I'm pursuing to achieve inner peace. For that is what gives me strength, courage, and determination--whilst in the midst of the noise and trouble, I keep my composure. . . and still be calm, in my heart.
Copyright © Jesson Rata