Confidence is something
gained eventually in a difficult manner,
but lost like how petals fly by every winter.
Sometimes it rots and drowns in itself,
yet it can also crawl on its own two feet and
face the world with a daring smile.
But a coward I am, truth's to say:
ran away and hid in its own shell,
trembling like a soaked little child
that couldn't find their mother.
Cry, I would, with already swollen eyes
and my watery lips look for summer and the light.
But my light has gone to write a dying will
and lit a inspiration in my heart rather
than my mind, that senselessly survived
a reckless drive, like a silenced hostage with no worth.
O, my head: ruthless and nothingness.
I spent one year chasing circles around it,
another trying to figure out if I should follow another
trail; and a few months regretting the life in black and white.
I am the epiphany of all years passed,
so I will search for myself:
the me that I'd like and become, someone
with more confident than me, hopefully.
Paper airplanes sent flying,
grant my wish of a tomorrow I'd smile at.
But wishes are too insincere, they're just words-
I burn to ashes, the memories in paper.
I spent tomorrow searching for me.