Loved, but not undertsood.

Ever paid witness, to an unheard reaction of your words?

Ever changed to their topic,

Only allowing yourself to speak in thirds?

Do you still wonder why they’re uglier,

When their ignorance of you, goes unconcealed.

Has your bitten lip, from holding back, not yet healed? 

Are you harmlessly wearing sunglasses,

To cover crying eyes?

Or are you heavy handedly Wallpapering,

Over those foundation cracks,

You’re unwilling to call lies? 

Ever distinguished that dead eyed look,

Of one beloved audience member, 

Sitting in the crowd of your opening night? 

As you struggle to read the cue cards,

You prepared, of a personality deemed ‘right’.

Ever googled that pain in your chest?

The one which comes after lifetimes of

Singing and dancing to someone else’s genre. 

Whilst your playlist is set to skip. 

Darling,

Why do you sit there,

With that Pros and Cons list

Of being an individualist?

“… To be loved, but not understood,

Is being lonely,

But not being the loneliest.“