She’s tired of chasing, when she knows she could be racing. 

She’s bored of watching her dreams at night, only to find they are the opposites of her frights. 

She’s done with soft words and shallow smiles, for all the smiles are now made of daggers and words of scissors. 

She’s angry with being so strong all the time, why can’t she be her soft, damp self for once. 

She’s sad at always being happy, why can’t she be the person they fucking carry. 

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