I used to believe in myself. And we all did at some point in time. Because children don’t internalize what they think and what they feel. They aren’t afraid to read you a chapter of their souls’. But then obscure conceptions of unspoken societal regulations demand your innocence and da** your childlike tendencies. We “grow up”. And anyone who stands up and says that they do, that they believe in themselves, they really do! Look at you. No you don’t. You may be young in years but those 16 years times 365 day that you’ve been here have aged your once pure eyes. And when I strip away your pigtails, all you are, all you’ll ever be, is 5,840 days broken. Wilted, and withered, and bleeding your childhood thoughts. Crying out of your now tired eyes, into your 8 million, 409 thousand, 6 hundred wrinkles. One for each day that you’ve been drained of your dreams. You don’t believe in yourself. You “grew up”.
I Used To Believe In Myself
September 10, 2011