What a world. What a day...
The days. Flying by ever so fast yet the pain of confusion wears away slowly. Comparing the fast paced life with the soft and unhealed wounds of yesterday seemingly contradict each other. One is a wind that cannot be caught and the other a dream delved into every second. Though, I must say, this is what makes everything so beautiful. The ability to put yourself in the spotlight, exposed to the potential failure and harm, but still persevering and taking the chance.
When all that matters is to win and be a part of expectations, the true essence is missed out upon. Confusion. That's what remains. To satisfy all is not an option, but to do good for all is an aim worth fighting for. Left alone on my own, the great world my critic, my young and flustered self a victim almost. A victim. Victim to what? Answerable to who? Wronged which aspect of life? I am my own victim. With the great exposure to opportunities comes the great threat of failure. A woman of color with a headscarf, two stereotypes already stemming against me. An independence I yearn, yet so subtly shy away from. A fear, one I cannot bring myself to speak admittedly of. The constancy of feeling subjected to prejudicial views and stigmatized thoughts almost restrain me from the dreams I chase. It's the truth though. I don't fill myself with unrealistic positivity that otherwise is signposted directly in front. Keeping the world in my hands and my dreams in my heart, I hope to be of the better. To forgive myself for missed opportunities and give myself the room flourish and the hope to dream.
A few words, mused together, forming the person I am. Such beauty lies within the moments of helplessness, a rush of greatness. Theses are the small wonders of living a life, a blessing I must say.
When all that matters is to win and be a part of expectations, the true essence is missed out upon. Confusion. That's what remains. To satisfy all is not an option, but to do good for all is an aim worth fighting for. Left alone on my own, the great world my critic, my young and flustered self a victim almost. A victim. Victim to what? Answerable to who? Wronged which aspect of life? I am my own victim. With the great exposure to opportunities comes the great threat of failure. A woman of color with a headscarf, two stereotypes already stemming against me. An independence I yearn, yet so subtly shy away from. A fear, one I cannot bring myself to speak admittedly of. The constancy of feeling subjected to prejudicial views and stigmatized thoughts almost restrain me from the dreams I chase. It's the truth though. I don't fill myself with unrealistic positivity that otherwise is signposted directly in front. Keeping the world in my hands and my dreams in my heart, I hope to be of the better. To forgive myself for missed opportunities and give myself the room flourish and the hope to dream.
A few words, mused together, forming the person I am. Such beauty lies within the moments of helplessness, a rush of greatness. Theses are the small wonders of living a life, a blessing I must say.
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