Who am I?
A human. A girl. A person with feelings and emotions.
I mean, that's a given. But who am I really? I'm still not too sure. Do I have a place in society? Am I of any worth? What makes me, me? However, the hurtful truth is, it isn't important who am I. It is more critical to others to see what is the use of me. A label or a piece of paper decides how much you are worth. They don't have to meet you to valuate you.
What do you see me as?
A friend, a foe or just an acquaintance?
I'm sure I have taken on many characters, good or bad. I know that I have behaved differently, depending on the time and people I am with. I hoped I have left a good impression on someone, or somewhere out there they see me in a positive light. It's not important how others see you, that is what I always remind myself; I still let it bother me. I'm mindful of what others think of me, first impressions and all. It is tiring to upkeep a facade and to be perpetually mindful of the way I act outside.
I'm sure I have taken on many characters, good or bad. I know that I have behaved differently, depending on the time and people I am with. I hoped I have left a good impression on someone, or somewhere out there they see me in a positive light. It's not important how others see you, that is what I always remind myself; I still let it bother me. I'm mindful of what others think of me, first impressions and all. It is tiring to upkeep a facade and to be perpetually mindful of the way I act outside.
When do you think of me?
Do you remember me as much as I do of you? Occasionally? Or not at all?
I think, I reminiscent, and sometimes I overthink. I like replaying little occasions and happy times in my head often. It keeps me sane and reminds me that I can be happy too.
There I lay,
As a society's toy.
Nothing special, nothing unique.
I watched as the clouds float by.
I hear my life tick away,
Waiting for someone to pick me up?
Where are you?
Where am I?
Where am I?
