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Sometimes, I pretend that
I am something more
than the truth
What bliss did that give me
—it was better to live
in my own fantasy
But it seems harder
to get out and live in
what I call my reality
I am not happy
in my own truth
I certainly am not content
with my lot
So I pretend that
I am nothing more than
someone who had made it
What illusion did that give me
—it was better to die in ignorance
than to have found out
I truly am a nobody
In what I call my home
I am no longer me
Inside my soul, curling in my heart
I certainly am not satisfied
nor am I the fulfillment
of my own story
YOU ARE READING
a symphony of stars, a cacophony of wishes.
Poetry❝𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯❞ ˜"*°•˜"*...
