Reality is?

How did people see you when you told them you can't take any bullshit in life any longer? How did they define you when you said your mind can't take it anymore?

Yesternight, my mother scrutinized how uncertainly those tiny sprouts of red-mushy like bloomed on my face and how those bags on my eyes got heavier as if I carry cumulus clouds that rained in distress. But when I honestly told her that I felt like a wrongly bloomed flower in a nowhere meadow who loses hopes as this planet continues to orbit, as usual, she then shrugged me off and told me that I was getting stranger, numb, and naïve. That all I did was to live my li(f)e irrationally:
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1. She said I spend more of my time caving in my room avoiding even the tiniest glimpse of sunlight's kiss and the moonlight's glow. Little did she know I have feared the spotlight and the feels of peeking outside because of them, too.
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   I always wish. That if only what I am feeling is only a stage fright, I would just fear strangers. But, what do you call when you fear people you knew? What if the people whom society told us that could be our greatest source of power are also our biggest weak point? I was just sure that I do not want to waste my energy proving people who do not see my worth, I would rather hide. Am I a coward? Maybe, maybe not.
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2. I focused my attention on weirder than usual nonsensical stuff as they always say—which they do not have any clue that it was my only escape and my distraction from their noises.
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   I have never felt bad being called weird before, but everything has changed when they always call me that with disgusted faces. I thought if you have the same DNA flowing on you, you will always be relatable to anything, that somehow they would come to understand. But I was wrong, or so I thought, I hope.
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Feeling bad about myself isn't just about how those insecurities and doubts lurk and hunt me every midnight. This is about me but this is not about because I am the one who is putting myself in a labyrinth of my fictitious belief. It is not me who is being harsh on myself. When depression hits, it hits. Depression or something chaotic in yourself can shoot someone anywhere and anytime.

When they say, "Reality is where you belong," no. Reality is sometimes the place of harassment. And you cannot just laugh at me when I believe in that way because I, myself am fighting to live as long as I can.

Some people say reality is home, but sometimes it is a place you could not find yourself you belong.

Life is indeed hard, but it is also full of colors, do not be the one who will steal everything completely. Listen. Hear those cries. We are weak sometimes, will that be the reason to invalidate us?

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Renésmee Neverfound ㅤ

An aspirant writer and artist. To be found is my greatest dream and never be lost. Hi, I am @rene.neverfound, you can call me Rene or Esme if you like. I specialized in prose-poetry and poetry, and now I am trying new things and writing styles. I love learning! I am a 17-year-old girl living life in the Philippines. And my face-claim here is @gabi_wahl on ig. I am a total bookworm and a grade 11 student with an undying passion for writing and art. Having many dreams is a funny mess because I get confused most of time with regard to what course should I take in college. I want to be an astrologist, a doctor, a journalist, an author, a professional artist, an archaeologist, and many more I forgot to remember while writing this.
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