Enough said but all I want is to be happy.
All I want is to love myself and who I’ve always been.
Enough said but I just want to succeed.
I want to make sense of this world
Make sense of the people in it.
So many times I wonder if I am enough,
Can I do it?
Am I capable.
Someday’s giving up is an option that I just never choose.
No matter how intense that feeling gets.
Enough said but I want to look in the mirror and love what I see.
Not love it for five seconds until I spot something wrong with me.
I used to see myself as a walking zombie trapped in a bubble.
Trapped in this world where I use mythical creatures and tarot cards to help me make sense of what I feel and see.
I try to escape.
Make up a world in my head that takes the pains of life away from me.
Enough said, but as a writer, as a woman who used to think there was nothing else left but confusion and cold chills.
There’s more than I can experience and feel.
Enough said, but maybe what I am writing doesn’t make sense
Maybe to someone out there, they can read between the lines and understand that we are made up of all these stages and feelings about ourselves that do nothing more than just stop us from doing what we’re made to do,