do you ever feel the cotton balls fill up your chest?
I do.
sometimes when the books get too heavy or the secrets too loud
that’s when the muffled echoes fill me up until I’m numb
it’s times like that when I try not to care
I cower behind a rainbow of personas
yet they don’t feel like home
I’ve become something of a chameleon
a flip book of pictures from other people’s lives
I’m so far gone I can’t picture my own face
hours spent carefully crafting this girl out of glass
only to have her shattered at the first hello
thoughts, opinions tattooed on my skin but none of them mine
what ignites that fire in my eyes?
racing heartbeats with every turn of the page
weightlessness as I stretch to touch the leaves
happy with aching fingers and a sore throat at 2 am after hours of chords and lyrics
those moments where I was alone but okay
okay with the curve of my bones and the length of my legs
content with my quirks
safe in my skin
the memories now cracked and yellowing
I’m just a broken compass
my magnet centered on the habits of others
I’m sick of these imitation games


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