Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

Imagine if I never messed up.

When she does not find love, she may find poetry. Because she does not act, she observes, she feels, she records; a color, a smile awakens profound echoes within her; her destiny is outside her, scattered in cities already built, on the faces of men already marked by life, she makes contact, she relishes with passion and yet in a manner more detached, more free, than that of a young man. Being poorly integrated in the universe of humanity and hardly able to adapt herself therein, she, like the child, is able to see it objectively; instead of being interested solely in her grasp on things, she looks for their significance; she catches their special outlines, their unexpected metamorphoses. She rarely feels a bold creativeness, and usually lacks the technique of self-expression; but in her conversation, her letters, her literary essays, her sketches, she manifests an original sensitivity. The young girl throws herself into things with ardor, because she is not yet deprived of her transcendence; and the face that she accomplishes nothing, that she is nothing, will make her impulses only the more passionate. Empty and unlimited, she seeks from within her nothingness to attain all.

— Simone de Beauvoir.


That one secret friend I once had
was someone I hated to love
yet someone I hated to hate.

My secret friend appeared out of nowhere
as a friend in need I was obsessed about
or, at least, to act the part of a friend.

The secret friend made me keep a secret
offering me praises in private
and giving me tips to keep it up.

That secret friend told me truths about me
knowing what I would want to hear
knowing what I would do about me.

My secret friend made me feel good
encouraging me to count the numbers
watching them grow smaller.

The secret friend kept me glued to this square
pale white on the bathroom floor
with a wobbly hand to keep score.

That secret friend made comparisons
making me to feel sensitive and wary
about what others to said about me.

My secret friend told distorted truths
that made me stay away from mirrors
and made me too afraid of myself.

The secret friend pushed me to the edge
and made me feel like jumping off
but I made a choice to stay away.

That one secret friend I once had
is a voice that has left my head
and one I'll never have back.



Imagine if I had the power to control the voices in my head
And I could tell them to shut the f up.


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