a warped reflection.
A caricature of what should be.
Mr. Perfectionism, a tightrope walker,
each step measured, analyzed
each breath held,by manys of peoples
judgment,where imagined eyes dissect and condemn or the quiet retreat, drawn on a sanctuary built of insecurities ,this is .anys of peoples
solitude, where it went. ,is in scarcity ,
where whispers of inadequacy of the only companions that's eliminated,
Social withdrawal, a fortress of fear now, once you took life ,their soul away now,in hopes of their name, is their at the gates, this is just me personally.,possibly later ,you will know and secure the manys of peoples, know this my friends, your own, there went that feeling of life, this of like to love is thy soul I know,within myself,I love me,
its too high to scale for yah,
its gates bolted shut against the potential sting of not belonging,
of not measuring up.(nah)
And the relentless
outward,
always outward,inconsiderate insecurities
scanning the lives of others,
seeking flaws to highlight in their own ignored
Constant comparison, a thief of joy,
it plunders contentment,
leaving of what could have been,
if only.
These , they cling,
they burrow deep,
into the soil of the mind,
where doubt sprout into a thicket of unrest.
a constant alertness for danger that never truly arrives,
but always feels imminent.
Low self-esteem, a video leached out,
leaving only the outlines of a person who feels small, nah
unworthy, now yah
a gunpoint of being a victim turned into their own story.
And the delicate threads of connection,
stretched taunt,
by the fuckers of trying to be unseen,
while simultaneously hiding.
Relationship strain, a silent battle,
fought in the spaces between words, I hear these fuckers in the unsaid grievances,
the fear of being too much,the fuck
Shit, not enough.
But even in the deepest shade,fuckem
Now lost and through.and never knew of these stories that are told,and heard,of, do they fuckin matter, did time good for tlyourself though why four your fuckury towards
I'm
acknowledging the
Stories that's lied about,
Lies ,no communication, exposed in invading privacy, stories told by tainted corruption focuses on for the insecurities of what your blackmailed for.ong.
Rewriting the script,
line by painful line,
challenging the negative self-talk,
the cruel internal critic
Where is the halls of
replacing harsh accusations with tentative truths.
And the most profound act of courage,
My insecurities ,yall are
My security
building self-compassion,
to understand that falling is part of learning,
that stumbles do not define the journey. tending, patient unfolding,
to push back these fucks pardon,fucks,no,
I payed no mind to, only,wired for the entertainment
one breath, one acceptance,
as a whole.
SoulfulSample113
