I stood on the balcony

In the dead of night.

Cold air on my skin

And the glow from a street light

I took a deep breath and

Thought things through.

Why should I stay here being tortured,

By you.

One jump, and it would be done.

No one can save me.

I just have to run.

Run from my friends and

my family too.

Run from my mind

and run from you.

Calm my breathing

And stop the tears.

Relax my muscles

Forget my fears.

Call me optimistic, tear me down for being naive.
Tell me I’m wrong, “living in a wonderland”

Or call me pessimistic. Write it off as hormones.
Laugh and say “I’ll understand when I’m older”
But I understand right now, in a way you never will.

I call myself a realist. I see things as they are.
I strive for perfection, knowing full well
I will always fall short.

Is it optimism to believe that
people should be good?
Better then what I’ve witnessed too often.

Is it pessimism to speak your
mind?
Express your opinion to your very soul.

There are different definitions of ‘living’ to different people.
And I will create my own, I won’t live by your rules.