p.220

I know I am not perfect.
I too, have done bad things,
but remember I am living
and those words of yours still sting.

I aspire to be better.
If only you knew how much I felt.
Shame of the past still haunts me,
but I’m trying to play with what
I’ve been dealt.

Alas, I am sick of playing.

I am tired of pleasing,
of pretending, of dreaming.

I’m tired of being no one.
Is it too much to ask to feel
awake when my eyes are open?

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