I’m afraid of being who I am.
I’m afraid that the day I show my true colors people will reject me.
I want to paint my hair pink and tattoo a chamomile flower on my wrist because it’ll help me remember life’s beautiful and anxiety is smaller than me.
I want to lose myself on the streets I choose freely without caring about who I might encounter. I want to no longer be obliged to give explanations or be afraid of misunderstandings.
I’ve always lived as if I wasn’t allowed to make mistakes. But I am. I am human, I fail. The people who judge me do it too.
If they are no gods, who are they to tell me what to do?
They tell me to toss my mask, they say I’m a fake. However once I do it, will they deal with the beast inside me? How are they supposed to understand it when I, the one who’s slept with it every night, have never been really able to?
Maybe this beast isn’t a monster, maybe it’s not even bad.
What if it’s in reality my natural state? I need to release it if that’s the case.
Won’t you let me live? I don’t remember having to ask permission in order to breathe.
If I say I’ll pay the price, will you finally let me go?
I’m packing my things, you giving me a yes or a no.