When I see me through your eyes I don’t want to live here.
Don’t want to live.
I see what you imagine, what you believe, what you’re afraid of.
You don’t really look at me. Into me.
You are careful not to touch me.
I’m not that person you see, but if I reach out…
You step further away.
So I move on. Maybe for now, maybe for ever.
Maybe till somebody can see me. Hear me. Touch me.
Till I am real.
Till I can touch the world.
Till I am strong enough to see it through my own eyes.