Through the Looking Glass
One of the many things I struggle with is my self-confidence. I don’t want to expose all my feelings out into the open because I’m afraid nobody will appreciate them, or worse– understand them.
I am not a book you can read in one go, probably. Let’s just say this: I’m the whole goddamn library.
Maybe this is not even me speaking. A lot of unconscious thoughts buzzing in my head. Mixing together. Forming a flavor of contrast. Sweet. Sour. Bitter. Probably even salty, with tears.
Oh, let’s cut the drama.
I don’t know what I should feel right now. I want to smash this screen to a thousand little fragments. But I want to embrace it because it’s probably the only thing I have right now. It’s listening to me, letting itself be poured with words that hung like dust in the air.
I want to be understood. To be listened to. To be heard. To be recognized.
To have my own identity.
But who makes my identity?
Me? Or the people who view me?
But there’s only one place I feel really most comfortable with. Not here. Not there.