To

I don't care what you think anymore.

I'm walking through crowded streets completely alone.

Around me I see torn souls, lost souls, and pretending souls.

What do I look like to you. I look nothing like what I feel.

How could you understand? Every mind is different sculpted to fit the vastness of individual universes.

Do not preach to me, do not tell me what I must do.

Contrary to popular belief I know what I am doing.




You tell me what or how and I feel defiant.

I will myself to not trust you. Or him.

Inner struggle of a need for human contact and protecting a now cautious soul.

 The vastness of my soul is underwhelmed walking through florescent hallways.

To normal.

Breaking skin that is tougher than it looks.

You know the beauty of a broken soul is that it knows how to pull itself back together.









Sage