I’m
15.
I
know, I’m small.
I’m
just 15.
I’m
a teen.
So?
If
I cry, its drama,
If
I’m in love, it’s a phase,
What
if I get raped?
Oh
yeah, I get to be the reason for “my” trauma.
If
I want to be independent,
I
have something to hide.
If
I want to live alone,
I
have someone to put out of sight.
If
I talk, I talk too much.
If
I’m silent, I’m a freak.
It’s
a dangerous world out there,
So
I “should” stay within my own clique.
There
must be no depression to express,
There
shouldn’t be tears to fall off.
Because
then, I’m seeking sympathy,
Because then, to my parents I’m a disgrace.
It’s
2 AM and I’m still 15.
I’m
one voice here.
I
seek one desire.
My
heart pains only for my dreams.
I
ask for this as I can’t seem to be able to swallow my sufferings screams.
Still,
why do I feel like I belong?
Why
do I feel like they care?
Knowing
they don’t.
Why
am I welcomed?
When
I should probably just be sent to bed.
Why
do I feel wanted?
Why
do I feel alive even though every day is a dying day?
And
yet I feel betrayed though I’m fully looked after.
Why
do I feel understood?
Even
though I know it’s just heads nodding in my direction.
Either I’m too lucky, or I see my ego in the
reflection.





