At some point I gave up Trying to be enough And was content to simply Make myself small enough As to not be noticed at all. And I gave up on the idea Of actual love, That old, worn out fairytale. All of those sweet words whispered, Like a cyanide-laced love letter Addressed to someone you never Truly cared for, Someone I was supposed to become. I had grown tired Of wishing on all the stars in the sky So brightly shining, But never intended for me. So, one day I decided I wanted to become myself again And not the abbreviated, half version of me That I constructed to hide myself away. Because I thought it might be my only chance to be free From being a mirror for your self loathing. Along the way I've lost myself, Among the confusion of trying To become a carbon copy of a role, A generic mold made for me And then etched into the sand of my soul. Now washed away with the tides Because it was never real. So now I write my own ransom note That simply reads: Run away and be Free.