“Honey, you can’t keep living your life to please people.”
But that’s how I survive.

Someday
I won’t be quiet
When I want to scream about injustice.
I won’t hold myself and cry,
I’ll cry in plain sight
And show that what someone said wasn’t okay.

I’ll leave when I want to,
I won’t talk to those who hurt me.
I’ll tell people when they’re rude,
I’ll speak up
When I want to.

But now...
I’m at the mercy of others.
I live to please
Or I don’t get to live.

This is the time of my life
Where I raise my hand
And ask permission.
When I nod politely
At unfairness,
Where my knuckles are clenched white
Behind my back
As I accept whatever treatment I receive.

I do dream of being free,
Make no mistake,
I’m not happy this way.
But this is how I must stay
To survive.

I thought that daydreaming
Was  allowed always,
That  no age  could
Stop you  from  doing  so,
Far  away,  to lands
With a precious gaze,
Who no one  other  than  yourself
Would know.

There would be  many
Pastel  meadows there,
And  storylines
Of  characters unknown,
Some  ugly,  tragical  or  only  fair,
Who still  all  have  to be
To people  shown.

But  no, it's hard  to think it is allowed; I  should be  serious,
Only  think of the  things
Who're  near,
And  not  be  like  a  cloud,
Always  o­n well-known  earth  –
Not  up above.

Now  I  am  in my
Twenties and reflect,
If  I  should embrace  this,
Or  only  neglect.