How many more times will you start over?
The wounds of previous failures
are starting to get infected.
How many more personalities will you have?
How many more roles will you play before
trying to finally become yourself?
You are like a lizard shedding skin
and you will end up without more layers,
your veins exposed to the world,
your insides on display.
There will be nothing holding that fragile body together.
Who will you decide to become today?
God forbid you become yourself.
You are trying to morph into something you think you will like
and you never stop to learn how to like yourself.
How many more beginnings before your power runs out?
How many more fails before your body decides not to get up?
When you are left there on the floor
will you settle for everything you ran away from?
Your life became an empty feeling,
your poems are the gravestone of the person you were.
If you had the power to create new worlds,
to house different personalities in your body,
to find out there’s always a new low to reach,
will you have the power to resurrect the “you”
that was murdered by your insecurities?