Honestly I can't seem to cope anymore
of course everyone has a story,
but mine just doesn't seem to open up any door.
For me to escape,
I want to so badly to leave this place.
These people, they don't believe me.
For I know I messed up once, twice, alright..
maybe a couple of times.
But God says "For I know the plans I have for you".
"For I know.. For I know..."

What do you know,
the fact that a mistake can define you and the reputation I never intended to quake,
into an earthquake..
with just one shake,
my world tumbled and crumbled into tiny bits of loneliness and not feeling like I "fit in".

This is it, I can't stay trapped,

in this trap of a strap that's not there but really is strangling me by the waist pulling me back from moving on.

I know people talk but never actually walk,
but if my story is not perceived by them, pretty soon this strap will be the only thing I have left to hold on.
From hanging in a room with so many images painted on the walls of white paint with emotions that deceive me, to perceive me, to sentience the feelings that seem to eat me.

A story that isn't theirs, so therefore it's okay to change a few words here and there,
but then changing a few words can change the pictures,

oh might as well too,
change the caricature.

But you see the caricature isn't really the character
just an imitation of a person exaggerating what's been done to her.

Even though that's not how the narrator wrote it, somewhat drew it,
I can think it, and maybe give her an ending she never wanted.
So done of feeling like I'm not worth it.

No, these doors are not so easily to unlock,
I've tried, their so far away at the top
and I'm at rock bottom,
when I climb,

all I do is fall.

Ahh the extremity of it all,
I rose to the climax highlight of an accident,
lead by a distraction,
only to be falling in action. I hit the floor.

Although if  you don't mind to laugh at me as I hurt,

watch me try again if you think it's a joke.

I'll pick myself up and dust my shirt,
'cause if you wanted comedy you should've picked another book.

My life is not a book to judge by the cover or once introduced to the character,
you don't get to push her into a rising action to lead her into the turning point of a mistake misread,
only to push her near the edge.
and slump in the innocence of everyone else's desires.
When they were the protagonist of the novel convicted of being liars.

It's been my story after all,
A theme of how sometimes you have to keep writing to find a conclusion,
and declare to yourself "they can rewrite and misread but no way in hell will they predict my own resolution".