Pictures of my old and present self
are clouding up my mind.
When I was a kid, I thought I was
tough,
But how come I am now vulnerable?
Is it my fault or is it somebody’s?
Am I the one responsible for what I turned out to be?
Trusting is something I find difficult.
Loving for me is destructive.
But I take the risk.
Because that’s what life is meant
for.
If you don’t get hurt, you don’t
truly love, and if you don’t truly love, you don’t actually live.
I looked down through the window
while I was high above the ground.
I saw the beauty of it all.
Some parts are ruined, but the
world still is beautiful.
I wonder if people still see the
beauty within me (like the way I see the beauty of the world).
I wonder if they still see my
worth despite all the pain I went through.
Would someone ever appreciate the
good in me?
Would it be possible that someone
save me from falling apart?
I hope so.