Why do we crave being wanted?
Saying we are ourselves
Our reality is hidden
Only show our joyest moments
We are cherry pickers
Leaving the small, deformed fruit to rot
Am I enough?
I lack imperfection
Show me yourself
I wouldn’t be able to be authentic
Even if I was the last person alive.
Are they still watching?
Filtering who I am is exhausting
But letting my emotions flow freely feels like
So why am I adapting to other people's ways?
Why am I trying to survive people's judgments,
When I can just live my life.