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I want to cry. I'm sad. I want to die. I'm not the person, I so badly want to be. I'm capable of being someone better; but you see... I don't try. I'm disappointed in myself because I look in the mirror & lie to myself everyday, falsely assuring myself that I'm content and alright. But I want to play the guitar, sing, dance, draw; anything but fight a battle I don't try enough to win. I want to cook, be pretty, smile, be perfect & popular, but while I sit here, wistfully typing and wishing, my chances to change are slowly finishing.
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Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
My Chances: I Let Them Slip Away
I want to cry. I'm sad. I want to die. I'm not the person, I so badly want to be. I'm capable of being someone better; but you see... I don't try. I'm disappointed in myself because I look in the mirror & lie to myself everyday, falsely assuring myself that I'm content and alright. But I want to play the guitar, sing, dance, draw; anything but fight a battle I don't try enough to win. I want to cook, be pretty, smile, be perfect & popular, but while I sit here, wistfully typing and wishing, my chances to change are slowly finishing.
This is an honest poem from the deepest part of myself that I desperately try to shut away and deny...
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Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
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