I’m so tired.
But I need to be better.
If I am not,
What is the point of doing?

Sometimes I feel so immature
Watching myself in the mirror
Painting my eyes
Through the scars
Of the tears
I'm shedding alone
But I like these scars
They remind me of my soul
Sometimes I forget I have one
I think we all do
But we all have a soul
And this soul can get hurt
Over the emptiest
Most meaningless
Minor things
But we keep forgetting we have one
Still hurt
We feel the pain
But our brain tells us
That we're immature
And I feel immature when I paint my scars
Just to feel pretty
When I see other girls unpainted
Clear
Without scars
And I wish I felt jealous
But I love my scars
They remind me
That I can be broken and alive
At the same time
That it takes a million seconds
To get through every thought
That conquers my mind
That my eyes might seem dead
But are so full of life
I wish someone noticed them
I wish I was something for someone
I wish they saw my soul
I wish they saw how broken and alive
I can be
But they just see my scars
They paint new ones
And I collect them
Like compliments
If I was pretty
And when I paint
The last inch of my face
I plan my smile
Do I even know how to smile?
Should I also start collecting smiles?
Sometimes I feel immature
For letting my thoughts swallow me
Are we all immature?
I always chase what I think
My brain deserves
And it's just rotten pieces
Of my past selves
But at the same time
I'm evolving
Behind the glass that shows me
My painted face
My painted eyes
My hidden soul
My scars
Can you see my scars?
If you can,
will you protect them,
or will you make new ones?,
Both will bring tears
So go ahead ,
Here are
My scars.

Interfering waves distort the mind,
shattered dreams freeze in their wake—
a chasm deep, sleep’s quiet grave,
where reality bends and breaks.

The ego quivers at the brink,
between the void and waking’s weight,
a struggle fierce, a war with fate—
archetypes stir, reborn to think.

Somebody tell the sky,
That it doesn’t have to be gray,
If it doesn’t want to anyways.

It’s awfully hard,
To rain on someone’s parade,
If the sun is shining through you.

Even when your curtain is closing,
That’s no reason for you,
To not give the best finale you can.

I'm not going to let you push me around.
Just because I chose to walk in peace,
Does not mean I am incapable of wielding anger.
Of which shines like a silver blade,
I am not too weak,
That I will crumble to you.
I am iron and steel,
You are wood and glass.

Do not dare make me your punching bag,
Lest I punch back.