Small Deaths

I do feel this way often. Though as I get older, it seems I care less and less about fitting in with others but care more about those who already has a place beside me. Less complicated and less tiring that way, I guess…

The Stories In Between

i’ve never felt quite right

wrapped in confusion at the

perceived motivations around me

never really a direction

but displacement from the things

and the ways in which

i found myself incapable of

fitting into the mold

at times like a goldilocks

trying this and trying that

one thing to the next and

back again, nothing fit, no

comfort beyond the temporary

consumption of what they say

what i need, what i should do

and how i should be

again and again lumping myself

into the space they carved out

for me, cutting away the

frowned upon pieces, chunk

by pathetic chunk, but it was never

enough, for the space always

seemed to morph tighter and tighter

with each small death and

the constraining, choking of words

that no one seemed to understand

and it’s true, they’ve broken me

more than once, but it was never

enough, not for them…

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