Part of me wants to believe
that I'm important,
more important than the dirt we walk on
Part of me says that
I'm the equivalent of the grass
that is shredded in the lawnmower
Which am I?
It depends
maybe on the day,
maybe on the person
but to me
I'm just the wind blowing
on a cold day
that freezes your nose
and numbs your heart
I'm the kind of person
that you don't want to be.
the kind of person
that cries over everything.
The kind of person
that wants to believe she's good
but doesn't feel like she is
Tries, tries, tries but isn't
Who am I?
Who are you?
I'm a whisper
in the night,
overlooked.