The hide.


The best version of me is always erased,
By the part of me who’s always running
A race.
The part of me who competes to be better.
The part of me who finds it hard to see better.
How could I ever be who I am,
If don’t let that person ever win.
How can I know who I am,
If that person has always ran.
Ran a race they’re bound to loose.
Ran a race they didn’t choose.
Against something that will always win.
The feelings that’s making them not be them.
The feeling that’s shut them away in hard times.
The feeling that told them it’s not okay to cry.
So this person hides.
And though she’s running,
She’s crying inside.
When will she be freed.
She’s been running so long.
She doesn’t know how to be me.

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