Trapped, stuck somewhere where it looks so easy to get out, but it isn't.
The same cycle every day, different ways make no difference, does it?
I often wonder why I can't be me, the real me, not the monster.
The monster who hurts others, without meaning to, but still, the imposter.
I would like to believe that one day I'll grow my own wings.
Become the me, not the imposter who does nothing but pull the strings.
I've been called many things, good, bad, in between.
The one that stuck with me, was "coward."
Maybe it's true, I am a coward, I run away, make sure those people won't see the sour.
The me I try so desperately to hide,
Because if I didn't, they'd see the inside.
They'd be disgusted, disappointed, see me as a ******
They'd try to hide their thoughts, but I'd know.
So, one day I will grow my wings.
I'll get out of this trap, switch sides with the mirror and show the world, the real me.
Jan 6
Jan 6, 2026 at 4:54 PM UTC
Trapped, stuck somewhere where it looks so easy to get out, but it isn't.
The same cycle every day, different ways make no difference, does it?
I often wonder why I can't be me, the real me, not the monster.
The monster who hurts others, without meaning to, but still, the imposter.
I would like to believe that one day I'll grow my own wings.
Become the me, not the imposter who does nothing but pull the strings.
I've been called many things, good, bad, in between.
The one that stuck with me, was "coward."
Maybe it's true, I am a coward, I run away, make sure those people won't see the sour.
The me I try so desperately to hide,
Because if I didn't, they'd see the inside.
They'd be disgusted, disappointed, see me as a ******
They'd try to hide their thoughts, but I'd know.
So, one day I will grow my wings.
I'll get out of this trap, switch sides with the mirror and show the world, the real me.
A little "trauma" recovery always did everyone some good, right? So, here's a poem on trying to recover, but no matter what you do, you always seem like the monster.
