Broken. Misunderstood. I say, Thank You.
Sulking, I walk through the crowds hoping to be found.
Noise. That is all I hear.
Noise. That is what society has become to me and I say, Thank You.
I glance from the corner of my eyes…
But nowhere could I be found
I was walking amongst a facade of friendly faces.
Yet, I still Thank You.
Why am I thanking you?
I am thanking you for my profound investment in my Individuality.
I am thanking you for my acceptance of myself.
The key to happiness begins with self-love.
Therefore, I am thanking you for granting me with a mindset to where I do not feel the need to be anyone else
But that I am confident in who I am and I value the way I was made.
There are times that are appropriate to conceal who we truly are.
But not to the point that we “forget” who we are.
It is about time we sit back and embrace who we are. No matter what that may be. It is time for us to be one with reality and accept each other for whatever an individual may dream to be.
Which is, again, why I Thank You.
About the Creator
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Personification
Effortlessly gliding is how a butterfly is imagined, but this time the image would be quite different. This butterfly’s wings were ragged and bore a variety of holes. She struggled to stay in flight. With every gust of wind, she was set back tremendously due to her holes. As night had begun to fall, the wind grew stronger. Where was the light? Will she ever find it? It was as if the wind had a mind of its own and its main focus was to keep the butterfly down. She continued her journey, battling with the wind, fighting against her conscience, who desperately, wanted to turn back. Then, suddenly, there was the light. It was not too far ahead. Her journey was almost over, but as she began to form to the patterns of the wind, a gust blew her back knocking her into a tree. She plummeted to the ground into a puddle beneath her. She laid in the water, all motivation lost. There she was completely helpless and inferior to the wind. She could not fly with wet wings, let alone with her holes.
By Bria Hankins6 years ago in Poets
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