Me.

Why is it that when I close my eyes, all I see is yesterday.
The screw-ups i made, my embarsing trip or stutter?
I never think that I have made a difference, or what I will acomplish tomorrow.
Smiling as if I never heard my insecurities bought to the surface, or what they said.

Going over all my mistakes, critizing myself harshly.
The ways i walked, the words I spoke, my innocence, or simply my own emotions.
Never thinking that i am whole, I am simply broken.
On the surface I am happy out-going, or scarcastic andjust plain out a bitch.

Inside well, I am a mess.
I never know whats to be expected from me.
Am I melancholy, happy, pissed , or kinda in between?
Its Always hard to know, but thats who I am , why does everyone want to change me?

Poem by Mekayla Monster

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