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.