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I've felt and thought for as long as I have breathed. I feel the world say "no," right as I start to grow. I hear myself say "no," simply because I shouldn't grow.
I have taught myself that I don't matter. That everyone deserves the privilege I have Except me.
Or that I don't deserve Love and loyalty Freedom and Rights because I'm a sick bee that will bring down the hive I see myself to be selfish and ignorant and cruel.
I try to do everything perfect. Everything "right." I try to fight, even when I know I can't fight.
Wait. That's right...
I'm not fighter, I'm a writer. I make my own world, With my own rules. I conquer lands and start bands. I learn from others for my own story's progression. Why am I obsessin' over my perfection?
But then...
What should I be if not perfection? Am I an academic? A scientist? An artist? A queen? A princess? A lover? A woman? A thing?
Maybe Just maybe I'll simply be ... me
He didn't know at the time. She tried not let him worry. But even when she couldn't speak, He understood.
The constant fear of doing something wrong. A dread that eats away at the stomach, Then the heart and mind. A heavy burden on the shoulders, That seems to never lose weight, And only pushes down. Hard.
So she tries to be smaller, A spec of dust in the storm. He doesn't let her. He holds her tight, Wrapping his arms around her curled body, Lets her know he's there for her, And never lets go.
The grave was simple. A small marker made of stick and cloth, standing out of the snow and dirt. The tree behind it was burned but started to grow again. Little by little. Even in the freezing winters, you can see more improvement than before. All but the marker was gone. Singed, yes, but gone was the farthest thing.
Was she still breathing? Just through the dirt and roots now instead of blood and lungs? It's possible, but then it's also pointless thinking about such things.
She was free. That's all that matters.
I have so much to say, But I'm afraid words wouldn't be enough. Actually, I'm afraid of a lot of things. Possibly everything. Everything but one.
I'm afraid of love. I've only learned how to hate myself, So how could I possibly learn to love If I hate myself too much? No matter how good I feel, Whether I'm told I'm beautiful or gorgeous, In the end, I only know how to criticise myself.
I'm afraid of laughter. Do you laugh at me? Or do you laugh at someone else? Is it true or fake? It's much too easy to fake, And reassess choices once made. I can switch moods in the matter of seconds. You probably wouldn't recognise who I was when I shift.
I'm afraid of life. You can make so many mistakes, Fall so many times. Once of them might change your life for better or for worse. That's why I criticise myself. That's why I can't choose choices, But to choose perfection that I despise so dearly.
But I'm not afraid of Death. It's so small, yet so crucial. I don't understand why people are afraid of it. It's coming, so why not face it head on? Is such a fear why most turn to religion and faith? To reconcile themselves that they will be safe? If so, then so be it. As long as it doesn't hurt one's reason to live, Then I'll respect that opinion.
All I want is to breathe in a world, A world that can take it's time and move forward. Not backwards. So, though I'm afraid of a lot of things, I'll continue to see the stories beyond my own. Because that's what I was born to be.
Have you ever felt like reality was a dream? Like your days felt light and fluffy, And you can't help but dread waking up.
Have you ever felt like the truth was covered by a veil? Where no one can see in or out, Left alone in your ignorant world.
Have you ever had dreams that-
Thank you.
For the lessons.
For a humor that never seemed to die.
For the stories that were shared,
And for the times of victory.
Despite all the odds, you lived.
At twenty-three, you really lived.
Fought to the very end.
Thank you, Technoblade. Dave. Alex.
Thank you for living.
<3
He's stuck in the void
Blonde boy, weak boy, lost
In the deep, dark void