I was fifteen and the boy I liked liked someone else.
And it broke my heart to see that I’ll never be as close to anybody compared to that girl he adored dearly.
I was fifteen and I wasn’t enough..

I was sixteen and my mother told me to lose some weight in order to look beautiful.
She told me to be smarter in order to conform with the society’s ideology of intelligence.
How I wish she had told me that I was okay and that I looked beautiful the way I was.
I was sixteen and I wasn’t enough.

I was seventeen and somewhere along the way, I realized that I was lost.
Wandering through roads of confusion and crossing rivers of uncertainties. I got lost and I got drowned in my own insecurities.
I was seventeen and I was lost and still wasn’t enough.

Now I’m eighteen and I told myself that it’s okay.
It’s okay that I’m lost but still trying to find my way out of the labyrinth of despair.
But somewhere deep inside me I know it’s not.
Because the boy I like still likes someone else
Because my mother thinks I’m better off as another.
Because I ruin everyone around me with my self-inflicted misery.

Now I’m eighteen and I’m tired of thinking. “If this heart stopped beating will it be enough?”


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