Nobody's born that way.
It's the life you grow up in.
The choices you were given without the liberty to make them
The choices that were forced upon you
The life you once thought nurtured you, grew around to betray you
Tell me where's the liberty of choice? Liberty to taste freedom?
Liberty to escape not just from anyone else but sometimes from yourself too?
Liberty to escape without being called a coward, without being chased down by the terror you were escaping from.
Tell me then, tell me your expectations from a person
who carries the life that betrays her,
Terror that fills her up with dread and fear
Her survival at the stake of uncertainty
While most of the days,
She lives one day at a time
Waking up at the cusp of night
Contemplating what body she'll wake up in tomorrow
Her mind, foreign to herself
Her much too familiar bed, a misfit against the markings on the wall
The walls of her bedroom, which were once yellow, now a dull blue
And this is just one of her many, many phases
She bleeds in colours,
Rarely red anymore
She hopes for her favourite one
But little did she know, the hope that almost flitted from her soul
Like a bullet graze had left a wound that can never be healed or forgotten
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 12:29 PM UTC
Nobody's born that way.
It's the life you grow up in.
The choices you were given without the liberty to make them
The choices that were forced upon you
The life you once thought nurtured you, grew around to betray you
Tell me where's the liberty of choice? Liberty to taste freedom?
Liberty to escape not just from anyone else but sometimes from yourself too?
Liberty to escape without being called a coward, without being chased down by the terror you were escaping from.
Tell me then, tell me your expectations from a person
who carries the life that betrays her,
Terror that fills her up with dread and fear
Her survival at the stake of uncertainty
While most of the days,
She lives one day at a time
Waking up at the cusp of night
Contemplating what body she'll wake up in tomorrow
Her mind, foreign to herself
Her much too familiar bed, a misfit against the markings on the wall
The walls of her bedroom, which were once yellow, now a dull blue
And this is just one of her many, many phases
She bleeds in colours,
Rarely red anymore
She hopes for her favourite one
But little did she know, the hope that almost flitted from her soul
Like a bullet graze had left a wound that can never be healed or forgotten
It's about a girl, infact, it could be anybody, who is uncertain of themselves, uncertain of their decisions. Not being able to guarantee trust, even to themselves. Like they're always on a slippery slope. Their mind changes likes seasons. This moment, they're happy and the next, they might have a breakdown. And to live in a body like that, it's not liberating but unsettling and hurting. It's like living in fear all the time.
Well, this is my perception. I'd love to hear yours too!
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