Mind

My mind is mushy. My fingers fat tipped. All the typos I don’t correct make me look dumb. My rebellion and anger. Though I refused to stress about what people thought, I stayed consumed by what ppl thought. Not brave but hopeless and fearful. Lost is a stain. I got to a point I didn’t even know it was wrong anymore. I’d revelled so long. Sucks. Ran all my life and never escaped myself.