The knot in my stomach grows tighter and I fight the urge to cry
My dreams seem unreachable, and my life is slipping by
Panic takes over when small things aren’t in order
Pushing people away from me, every day a little but further
The mask I plaster on my face starts to show its fissures
And each moment I live, I feel more of the pressure
Of being perfect, successful, smart and worthy
And I try, I work hard, I graft, I’m eager to please
But my stomach feels uneasy, I feel other people stare
And whisper and point, and I know I shouldn’t care
Shouldn’t care what they say, what they think or what they have heard
But the comments, they hurt, and my judgement is blurred
A life of put downs, of violence, of darkness
Of feeling unloved, the target of malice
Means the fear is always there, it’s forever a part of me
But one day, I hope, I’ll finally be free.
I once operated under constant pressure from what I thought were ubiquitous critics. In reality, though, each of us just has our own filters, or lenses, and I am now content with doing what I deem right, without needing to please others.
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one day, I hope, we’ll all be free. great poem, btw.
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