And I want to dress like a woman but im barely affording living as one. I see the girls in big dresses with updos rivaling queens of the past and I want to be them but I am not. I am not that gorgeous, I am not that charistmatic and instead of chasing my dreams I sit at my computer spending my days studying just to make it to the finish line as medicore as I started. I resent myself a little for it.

I want gardens and walks, I want adventures in new citys and laughs on grassy hills but my body is too tired and my lungs ache with fear of living a life that wasnt worth dying for so I sit here, in mediocrity, paralyzed, with a hand over my barely beating heart and words dripping off my lips like venom.

“Get up.” I say.

And I almost listen. But fear is a dangerous drug so I sit there for a second longer.

This is what falling looks like. And as I sit on the ground and get angry I tell myself that I shouldnt have to fall so far. That this is unfair and that I deserve to be able to afford myself a damn dress without counting dimes to buy it. I tell myself that the rich are rich because they are hoarders and keep the countrys wealth to themselves while I have to choose between my hobbys or dinner. I tell myself that im done, that even if I have to die trying that I will carve my own grassy hills from clay and plant my own gardens as I learn to become my own god; and finally, that is when I stand. That is when medicore transforms and I see that she was only a cover, that under all of that comparison and thoughts of what I should be, it was just me trying my best.

And once again I realize where this anger is coming from. I recognize that this is why I was such a angry kid, it was because I always got less than I deserved. And because I always accepted it as all I was ever good for.