Exactly What I Would Do Too, Wolfy. Lol

Exactly what I would do too, Wolfy. Lol

In case you need to know what kind of person I am

Born to be...

I have so much to say, But I'm afraid words wouldn't be enough. Actually, I'm afraid of a lot of things. Possibly everything. Everything but one.

I'm afraid of love. I've only learned how to hate myself, So how could I possibly learn to love If I hate myself too much? No matter how good I feel, Whether I'm told I'm beautiful or gorgeous, In the end, I only know how to criticise myself.

I'm afraid of laughter. Do you laugh at me? Or do you laugh at someone else? Is it true or fake? It's much too easy to fake, And reassess choices once made. I can switch moods in the matter of seconds. You probably wouldn't recognise who I was when I shift.

I'm afraid of life. You can make so many mistakes, Fall so many times. Once of them might change your life for better or for worse. That's why I criticise myself. That's why I can't choose choices, But to choose perfection that I despise so dearly.

But I'm not afraid of Death. It's so small, yet so crucial. I don't understand why people are afraid of it. It's coming, so why not face it head on? Is such a fear why most turn to religion and faith? To reconcile themselves that they will be safe? If so, then so be it. As long as it doesn't hurt one's reason to live, Then I'll respect that opinion.

All I want is to breathe in a world, A world that can take it's time and move forward. Not backwards. So, though I'm afraid of a lot of things, I'll continue to see the stories beyond my own. Because that's what I was born to be.

Wait. That's right...

I've felt and thought for as long as I have breathed. I feel the world say "no," right as I start to grow. I hear myself say "no," simply because I shouldn't grow.

I have taught myself that I don't matter. That everyone deserves the privilege I have Except me.

Or that I don't deserve Love and loyalty Freedom and Rights because I'm a sick bee that will bring down the hive I see myself to be selfish and ignorant and cruel.

I try to do everything perfect. Everything "right." I try to fight, even when I know I can't fight.

Wait. That's right...

I'm not fighter, I'm a writer. I make my own world, With my own rules. I conquer lands and start bands. I learn from others for my own story's progression. Why am I obsessin' over my perfection?

But then...

What should I be if not perfection? Am I an academic? A scientist? An artist? A queen? A princess? A lover? A woman? A thing?

Maybe Just maybe I'll simply be ... me