I used to sit in a room,
the only feelings I remember were disdain and gloom.
Hearing words repeat in my head:
“You’re nothing,” causing me to rot in my bed.
Rot in my bed with these thoughts in my head.
What would the older me see?
What would the older me be?
Just a little kid looking at four walls,
not even realizing that the older her is observing it all.
Observing me, observing who I used to be.
Broken was all that I seen.
But I opened my eyes,
and now I realize
I can finally answer the younger me.
I see a child who just wished she could be happy.
I see a child who is just misunderstood.
Who would the older me be?
So I answered to my younger self softly:
“We’re doing what we were created to be.
Something.”
