Obscure
A stranger to myself
By M. JohnsonPublished 3 years ago • Updated 3 years ago • 1 min read
Like
Share
Who am I? Am I comfortable enough to answer that question? I am a stranger to myself an enigmatic wad of introversion.
I can’t answer. I will only insult myself and berate my own existence. Picking myself apart like ravens would a withered carcass.
Leave me alone. If only I could leave myself alone. I want to abandon myself. To be ignored like a dusty forgotten book on a shelf.
I don’t know me I am a stranger to myself. I want to know myself. Who lives in me? I crave confidence from within a sense of sureness people can see.
Like
Share
About the Creator
M. Johnson
There is no bad weather; only bad clothing 🏔
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.