Honestly. I'm tired of hearing it. Who are you? What are you going to do in life? How will you make your mark? What will you amount to?
That's not a real career. Have you thought about something else as a more practical career? You won't succeed.

How can I think freely if all my thoughts are full of holes? Everyone nitpicking them until they no longer exist, what's the point of even trying?
How can I succeed if everyone pushes me back into my bubble? What am I supposed to do if I can't even leave? No one expects me to leave, either.

How am I supposed to get anywhere if I'm surrounded by high expectations? What am I supposed to accomplish? I can't get anywhere today. The bar's too high. All I can do is complain. Is this really all I can do? It's so... awful. It's a bother. It's a nuisance. I hate it. What am I meant to be?

And where were you when I needed you the most.
As I was wrenching on the floor -- pleading with my ghosts.
When my burden was too much, when I looked in your direction.
Nothing but the wind I felt, and the cold tear of rejection.

We expect kindness from god,
We expect love from our close ones,
We expect care from our friends,
We expect time from our children,
We expect respect for everyone,
We expect the return of what we have given may it can be love, money, care, respect or family,
But sometimes we also do expect sympathy,
Why do we expect sympathy?
Or,
Why do we have so many expectations.
It is said that don't expect anything from anyone till your last breath
Because expectations from anyone will give you the biggest threat of life,
But don't know why do we expect!
Expectations makes people weak and sad.
Sometimes it brings tears in someone's eyes,
But then also we have lot of expectations don't know why?
We know it hurts to expect something from someone but then also we can't help it.

The sun is as bright as it could be
Stars shines bright that lit up the night sky
There's a moon that guiding the moon streets
And a road beneath the darkness; no one knows

I have gathered all my acquaintances
Just to see if anyone knows me
I have gathered everyone and ask to choose their paths
But no one matches for me

Now that I'm alone
I decided to make a paradise
In that paradise with things I want
But with things I expect

I make that paradise to make myself happy
And thought everyday was a happy day
And didn't care for anything else
Just thinking everything can be mine

As far as I remember
I include things that I expect
And end up being hurt
Because expectation doesn't end our satisfaction

Here in my paradise
As long as I stay
I receive pain big time
In a reality that no one wants to stay beside me

We are someone,
WHo knows expectations hurts
But we still expect something from someone...
We know what hurts us,
And still we get hurt...

©sameeromles

I realized
as I aged that
my own intensity was not easily weathered by any man. Or any person.
My almond eyes were Venus flytraps
to the ghosts of my past who were drawn in all too quickly,
only to be devoured by their ceaseless lust and depraved need.
There was no dial to my passion, once awakened it could only be suppressed to a dull roar.
Many who met my gaze disintegrated before me into piles of dust and rubble and hollow disappointment.
They say eyes are the window to the soul, and I thought mine was host to a terrible demon or succubus.
I only discovered as my brain finished stitching together in my early adulthood that it is not demons who crumble weak men with their eyes, but goddesses

The worst thing when you know what you need
Is when your needs are not met
And you know you have to leave
But you tell yourself "Not yet".
Then you hope they will change,
But you know that's not fair.
You can't ask them to do that
When you can't do it yourself.
Now you cry in the dark
And you're lonely and scared.
"What if there's no one there?"
"What if no one here cares?"
Now you have an eternity
To live by yourself
And they say: "You'll be free!",
But is it freedom?
Or hell?

the daughter of my mother
sleeps inside my chest.
murmurs in her sleep
"i could do it better, i could be loved for it"

                      my mother loves her daughter.

it's hard, letting her go
my home of many years
no matter how uncomfortable the bed was
how cold the rooms
i lived in her
was loved in her

sometimes i take her out
drag her out of my soul like old laundry
like nostalgia, like a party dress
i slip, quietly, into her skin
wear her face, her family.
she doesn't fit right.

the daughter of my mother
is coated in broken glass on the inside
but as her
i can do it better, i can be loved for it

                      my mother loves her daughter.
.