What am I, but Human?

What am I, but human?

Why am I expected to be so much?
My complex mind consumes me,
how am I ever to know how much is enough?
How much anxiety do I face before I refuse to take anymore?
How many tears to drown my cheekbones,
how many tears to make my weary eyes sore?

What am I, but human?

What else am I to be?
If there was another option,
then believe me, I’d flee.
I’d flee from all my worries-
I’d flee from my regrets.
Not only would I flee from myself,
I’d flee from those who love me best.

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blue-eyed view

I believe I see the world differently than most – for what things are, not what they seem to be. It is difficult [impossible] to make friends, especially ones that last. I see through the meaningless words and the petty [heartbreaking] lies. Genuine is an endangered species. Some [most] keep up with ‘celebrities’ rather than their family and friends, and this is the current sadness of the world. Fuck keeping up with the Kardashians. I am guilty, though; keeping up with ‘celebrities’, comparing myself/others, jealous thoughts – but the conscious effort is currently being made to admire and keep up with what is real in my life. I am worth being compared to only my past self. I am worth being loved for my soul [who I really am], rather than being loved for my body [which is merely a shell]. My skin is a casing which encloses all of which make me who I am. Who judges a present based solely on the packaging? My words, my art, my tears.. they are all a pathway into the deepest part of me. Are you ready for the journey?