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We
We are free souls.
We are free spirits, yet
we are waiting
for someone to show us the
way.

We are pure,
we are unique.

We are strong.

We are beautiful.

We are the ones that decide our destinies.

Nor illness, nor hurt, nor death can stop us.

We are light,
we are energy.

We are souls, inside bodies.

But we,
we are not trapped.

We are not prisoners.
We don't need help.

We are more than we think.
We are
free
souls.
I've been on a journey
to the depths of my own
                                            mind.

i didn't like what i

l
e
  a
   r
    n
     e
      d

but i know it was needed.

                          I've been (dis)connected

up, down,up ,down u,p ,down

in (a)n(d) out

blur is what i see.

i know ::myself:: better now
¿Do you know what's the problem with society nowadays?
No one is allowed to feel anything about themselves in any way.
Yet, society is allowed to press standards on us.
Behavior standards.
Beauty standards.
Appearance standards-
You can not consider yourself ugly because everyone's beautiful. But you can not consider yourself beautiful because you are not the center of the world.
You can not wear baggy clothes because they hide your figure. But you can not wear anything "too revealing" because you will be a ****.
You can not use makeup because that's effeminate. But you can not have one "imperfection" on your face.
¿Do you know what's the problem with society nowadays?
Everyone considers themselves gods.
Everyone considers their opinion the only one valid.
Everyone thinks they are way over the top from others. When in reality, we're only flesh and bones.
We're only minds, spirits, trapped inside a body.
¿Who gave us the power to judge each other? ¿Who decided what is or not beautiful? ¿Who decided what is or not acceptable? And why do we cope with those ideas.
We are all equal.
We are all humans.
We are all fragile and sensitive.
¿So who are you to tell me what can I do or not?
The problem with society nowadays is that we don't want to learn.
We don't want to evolve.
The problem is that we have taken so many things from life, and twisted them until they became what we wanted, that we don't know what is their meaning anymore.
And we are not allowed to feel in any way different from what others tell us.
And we are not allowed to think in any way different from what society teach us.
And we are constantly looking for answers ¿But who's asking the questions?
We are lost.
We are lost souls.
We are wandering on earth without purpose.
And in the end,
it does matter.
I am sad.
Not in a depressed way. Not ill.
Just sad.

I've been sad a while. I've been sad for different things.
Mostly, I've been sad because I'm feeling empty.

That somedays, I just don't understand what am I doing here.
That somedays I just look into the mirror and I don't find the strength to cope with another day.
I am not suicidal, even though I think about it a lot.
Who would miss me? Who would even notice.
Am I really important?
Am I?

Is it worth it? Well yeah. I know it is.
Can I make it? Of course I can!

But I just can't find motivation?

I've been feeling sad because I'm feeling empty. Because I'm seeing all the things I once loved drift away. Because I'm almost 18 and I haven't done anything i have proposed myself.

I'm feeling empty because years keep on going by, and things keep on changing, and people keep on growing,

and I don't.

And you know I just can't cope with it anymore.
Because it's frustrating and it makes me anxious and I just can't find the will to change.

And I'm just feeling sad, because even the happiest moments seem to get blurred out by the fact that I am not going anywhere.

And I'm empty, and sad, and lonely.
I can't write poems.
I know I can't. Everybody knows.

Poetry is for the soft ones.
For the hurt ones.
For the broken ones.
For the talented ones.
For the edgy ones.

For the special ones.

And I am certainly none of those.

Pretty **** sad, huh?

Yet, poetry is for everyone.
Because... Art is for everyone,
right?
Because you're supposed to feel comfortable while writing it. While creating it.

Art is for everyone.

But not
me.

I know I **** at this.
I must admit I enjoy writing down my feels.
I must admit poetry is one of my favorite types of therapy.
But I also must admit I **** at this.

I'm not going anywhere with this poem, to be honest.
I'm just wasting your time.
I'm just wasting my time.

I'm a waste of time.

And I am so
sorry.
Who
Who am I?

Like, really.

who. the. ****. am. I.

I am human.

I am a living skeleton. I am a soul and a brain and a bunch of **** feelings.

But like, who am I?

Am I my name? My last name? My nickname?

Am I the person you see? or who I think I am? Am I a single person or am I plenty? Sometimes I feel like I change.

Am I actually one soul? Am I many?

Who am I or who are WE?
It's been awhile
since I last grabbed
my pen.
Since I last wrote down
my mind
in a sheet of paper.

It's been awhile
since I last felt
anything.
Something good.
Something bad.
Since I last felt
anything.

Must be that I'm empty.
I'm an empty
human.
No heart.
No soul.
No mind.

It's been awhile since I last saw you.

I wonder if that has anything to do.

Maybe it was always you,
and never me.
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