Pressure cracking glass.
Stars scatter the floor.
I’m running out of tries,
And my blood is running down.
I want to know something for certain,
Instead of always having to guess,
But telling myself who I am is harder than it seems.
Finger prints cloud the figure,
Standing over my shoulder.
Scars litter my body,
From the wounds I caused myself,
Because I can’t admit correctly.
And someone come to tell me who to be,
Because I can’t answer for myself.
I’ve been knocked into the sand,
But nothing can come close to being tossed around.
Lies have been passed through my thoughts,
Judgements made on the people near me.
And can anybody answer my prayers,
About which truth I’ve been told?
It’s always hard to find yourself,
When you’re lost in the opinions of others,
And I know the people who are supposed to lift me up,
Can only drag me down,
Like an anchor.
But maybe I’m the one doing to wrong here,
Because I never said the truth to myself.
Who do I see in the mirror?
What do I see in the mirror?