I am not here for you. Not for your opinions, not for your judgement, not to know if you are listening or if you are ignoring. If I was here for you, there would be no sustain.
Rash. Rude. Unexquisite.
I was not designed to be defined by the guidelines that were given to me by someone who does not live and breathe in this body.
I felt myself give way to the perceptions of others, I felt your eyes lay judgement on me while you learned to hate me through the words coming from my own lips.
Who set your world on fire? Who keeps throwing gasoline onto it?
Use your wings.
Use your might.
Put out it.
Make it right.
You beg for my wandering eyes, the weightlessness in my footsteps, but when have you turned to yourself for the love you crave?
A picture of perfection could never be painted, perfection is a myth, the greatest lie of our time, dressed in variety, dancing with superficiality.
To let another soul, tell you that she wears hers always with a smile, does not mean that you must too; take his words and wrap it in the pretty lace he hoped to experience you in later and remind him that he has no place to say what is sweeter or softer than you.
If I was conceived to bear comparison, I would have already been drifting at the will of the wind as dust and ash.