Where will I find myself,
if even the kitchen rodents hate me?
If the very person who bore me in her womb
just outright tells me she abhors me;
If all that comforts me at night
is a rotting second-hand sofa
And also an old blanket I got for Christmas
that warms me from the chills of a previous brouhaha;
How am I supposed to know my value,
if all they ever tell me is that I'm ugly?
That even the fanciest of jewelries and gowns,
can never make me pretty;
What can the world offer me,
when I'm blind and see only hues of blue?
Or when I cradle myself in tears,
when I know not what's next to do?
What do I owe the people
who see me hurt but don't wipe away my tears?
When I know they here me screaming,
while I beg for solemn peace.
How can I ever be so proud of my efforts,
if no one ever sees?
Most specially the people,
I need to see me bleed.
So bear with me if I tell you,
that I'm tired of listening,
because no one ever hears me out
when it's my heart that's been shattering.
Don't blame me if I tell you,
that I'm tired of living,
Bacause all those I ever trusted,
left and had me hanging.
Don't cry if you hear me say
that I'm tired of fighting,
Because all I was is in past tense
and it's too late for your grieving.