I don't have the right to complain.
My voice shouldn't carry the sharpness that has become my personality.
My eyes shouldn't hold the harsh edges of a wasted youth.
My heart shouldn't be covered in ice, filled with the remnants of a fire long extinguished.
I shouldn't be this way.
I have a home; although it may be empty.
I have food; although it all tastes the same.
I have friends; although they don't know who I am behind this mask.
I shouldn't be this way.
But I am.