Look at me. Look at me.
What am I? Who am I?
Which version?
Which one is better?
Who do I choose?
Or do I just stay frozen between the two?
Should I be the one my heart tells me to be;
unfiltered, unbothered, whole?
Do I even know how to be unbroken,
not just appearing to be so?
Should I be the one my brain forces me into;
polished, practiced, picture-perfect?
Do I even know if I'm capable of appearing
so forevermore?
Will I ever meet anyone who would cherish
the one my heart aches to be, or
shall I be sentenced to a life of misery
in the artifice of articulate existence, carefully rehearsed and performed?
I have to live in despair nonetheless, but
at whose hands- my heart or my mind?
The chasm of feelings threatening to engulf me whole,
or the tangled mess of thoughts almost swallowing me fully?
In front of most, I'm the one who's always supposed to be happy,
hilarious, even at the expense of my humiliation or merriment,
or at least look so on the surface, and then of course,
I go cry in the corner when where nobody's looking.
But also, in front of the mirror, at the dusk of night,
I gaze wistfully into my own eyes, unburdened by others,
unregretfully my own self, unabashedly breaking,
to be heard, at least once in my godforsaken life.
I'll dream of my perfect world, where I am my heart,
full of and recipient of love and care,
in a home filled with laughter and joyful memories,
untainted by the darkness of my hidden, truest self.