Me in Essence

All my life I was told no one's perfect. All my life all it meant was I wasn't. All my life I strove for perfection, I tried to please everyone. I lost myself. In dance I am a slave to the music. In life I am a slave to perfection.

Behind the girl you see, is the pain that has never been announced. Sure you’ll see my cry. But no one ever knows the real reason why. Because I never let them, I never say. I don’t want anyone to know.

I cannot speak. A thousand thoughts could go through my head, but only perhaps one might come out.
I’m the girl who has spent her whole life trying to be perfect in every single pair of eyes she comes across. But perfection comes at a price, and it’s not monetary, and it’s not magic. It’s turmoil.
I like life better with my eyes closed. I like the darkness, the blackness. It’s comforting; it makes life seem so much simpler. Too bad it’s anything but.

In my head I am lost. I am dead. I feel as though I am an abandoned house. I know I’m here and standing and I know there used to be a happy whir inside of me. But it’s gone now. I feel pieces of my memory slipping away, like the paint chipping off, and there are these dark memories of poor decisions like ink stains on the carpet. They say that all wounds heal with time, as all memories fade. But I’m different. My memories fade, but only the good ones, the ones of when I was alive, and life thrived within me. The other memories, the ones I want to forget, the stains of my life, stay, and they haunt me.

What I really want is to disappear. To become invisible, to float through life. To exceed in my own world, manipulate my relations, my actions, my past, my present, and future.

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