Same Sh*t, Different Day.

Where do I start?

What do I write?

It’s been such a long month.

Physically I’m a mess.

Mentally I’m withering away.

I’m exhausted.

The normal excuses don’t work.

Who’d believe a walking corpse?

I fought. I crawled.

This is not what I wanted.

This is not what I planned.

The smiles are fake.

The society is at blame.

“How are you doing?” you might ask.

I’ll just say “I’m OK”.

I’m good. I’m fine.

It’s not my life anyway.

I’ll keep pretending until I get taken away.

Acceptance should be easy.

I’m an illness to some.

A joke to others.

And an attention seeker for the rest.

I did not ask for this body.

This name or this life.

I just want to be me.

Whoever that might be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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