Stranger to Myself

I’ve lived my life as a stranger to myself.
I woke up as me,
but what did that mean?
I went through the motions,
raised my hand when my name was called,
but when I got home,
I didn’t know who I really was.
You’re beautiful, talented, and smart – I was told;
but when I got home, I just felt alone and cold.
Cold, so I hurried into my bed
to hide from the world,
but mainly to hide from myself.
Sleep was my vice;
sleeping meant I didn’t have to think about my life.
Day after day, I hid from myself.
No happiness shone through my tired eyes.
I was miserable at best.

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Published by

Misty Dawn

My name is Misty Dawn. I’m twenty-five years old. I lost my father in 2015 due to dementia. I'm an only child dealing with a mother that has Borderline Personality Disorder. I am a full-time student pursuing a social work degree and a full-time caretaker for the elderly. I'm passionate about art, writing, and making the world a happier place. These are my thoughts, dreams, fears, passions..

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