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I used to be concerned as to if my voice would be heard. As if the silence I've been hearing has been searing my mouth shut. I'm always leaning to yell my feelings out and shout from the rooftops so that someone will hear my cries. But my lies hold more weight as I’m barely skating by and my time is running low, I feel this is my final show. Am I enough? I ask myself, am I? Do my words even mean anything in the grand scheme? Do they all have a theme? As I scream I realize I've been deemed worthless. And what hurts is that I feel it too. I've been thinking about it longer than you. No, your words no longer hurt. Everything you say to me I've said it five feet from the mirror with tears in my eyes. I try to say that I'm fine when in reality I feel like dying. Not in a suicide way but metaphorically speaking. I don't want to leave this world as my thoughts can’t forget the regret of what others will think. I can't even have thoughts of the sort as I always feel that I'm falling short of expectations. I wonder if you think it too. Do you? It's probably all in my head. But as I go to lay my head on my bed the dread makes another appearance. I must ask myself the question again. Am I enough? Will I ever be? I always feel like I'm tripping over my own feet as I’m wishing for solid ground as I'm fishing for a better mentality to life. I never meant to become this way. My traumas are monopolizing and tumbling over like dominos in the misery that is my life. I feel light when I let go of these worries but they creep back in like they have no remorse for my struggles. My legs buckle under constant stress. Why do I have to be the one that puts up a front? I want to be able to express my misery, but with my history, I’ll be deemed weak. I hate that feeling. Feeling like I’m never good enough. Like I am the reason the world will stop turning. Like everyone else’s faults are mine when in time I hope I’ll realize they aren’t. I’ve been deceived to believe I’m the problem. But what I have failed to realize is that my life is a gift that many are happy to have received. I am no burden to others like I’ve been tricked into thinking. I am not the reason for their troubles. It Is Not My Fault. I was never the bad one here. It was the people around me that made me feel like I had no worth. The ones that made my voice seem quiet. I am forced to remember what I’ve been told by the ones who truly love me for me. “I am not perfect, but I’m perfectly me.” and that is all that truly matters in my convoluted misery.
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