Getting called pretty,
means nothing if you can’t feel it,
see it, be it to the maximum potential.

Try to change your randomly generated face given to you, 
through years of arranged marriage.
True love had nothing to do with it.

You’ll get called mop-head till curls are back in style,
and too dark till summer comes around.
You’ll have to tick “other” on documents,
you’re obviously not an option.
You'll never fully understand what you truly look like but you try.

You get called pretty,
yet you let it in one ear and slip out the other.
You get called ugly,
and it sticks till you’ve earned their approval.

Getting called pretty means nothing, you’re just pretty for the people.

some days,  
it feels cruel,  
heavy,  
almost impossible to understand.

you wake up  
and everything feels a little too much.  
the world keeps moving,  
but you do not know how to move with it.

and then, somehow,  
there is one day.

just one.

and everything feels different.

the same sky looks softer.  
the same streets feel warmer.  
you laugh without forcing it.  
you breathe without thinking about it.

you do not even know why.

maybe someone said something kind.  
maybe someone stayed.  
maybe someone looked at you  
and made you feel like  
you were worth listening to.

and sometimes,  
you find the courage to tell someone  
what you have been carrying inside.

it is scary.

because feelings are strange things.  
they become real  
the moment you give them a name.

but when that person listens,  
when they care,  
when they do not make you feel foolish  
for feeling too much—

it feels almost like being understood  
for the first time.

you think,

maybe this is what life is supposed to feel like.

being heard.  
being cared for.  
being loved  
without having to earn it.

but life is strange.

because even beautiful things  
can change.

a person can become distant.  
a moment can become a memory.  
a place that once felt safe  
can suddenly feel unfamiliar.

and the same heart  
that once felt so full  
can become quiet again.

i think that is the hardest part.

not that good things end,

but that while they are happening,  
we never know  
they are becoming memories.

so maybe life is both.

cruel and beautiful.  
heavy and gentle.  
lonely and full of love.

maybe we are not meant  
to understand every day.

maybe some days are simply meant  
to be felt.

and maybe,  
when the good ones come,

we should let ourselves love them  
while they are still here.

You said I was mature,
Since I never ask for more.
I never asked for you to be there,
But deep down I really did care.
You said I was mature but I don’t know why,
Wether you said it to soothe me like a lullaby,
Or just so I didn’t cry.
You said I needed to be an adult,
I took it as an insult.
Everyone else got to be a kid,
How come I never did.
When I was fourteen you told me I had to fight for myself,
While you did everything for everyone else.
You didn't give me the chance to be a child, 
I never got to be wild.
When you told me that I was mature I took it as a complement,
I didn’t even know what half of it meant.
You said to show responsibility and amiability, so that people would love my personality.
I used my maturity to lull me into a false sense of security. 
Since I knew I wasn’t ready, all I felt was just unsteady.
All I wanted to do was go inside and play with my dolls, instead you put me in charge of these  neanderthals - the people who will make you and break you just to reshape you all over again, I just wanna go back to then.
To when my biggest problems were spelling test but now its pre- calculus. Now I lay awake wondering if my mom will come home alive from the store, why is this world so hardcore. I grew up to soon now I look like a buffon.
When you told me I was mature, now I realize it meant I had to endure. 
The trials, the fights, and the sleepless nights.
Maybe I wasn’t made for this life, I never asked to be your lifeline.
When you told me I was mature, it become a procedure. Wake up slave away, just like any ordinary day. 
Finally when my head hits the pillow, I’m supposed to feel like some kind of superhero but instead all I do is ache, as my heart continues to break. 
I carry the world on my shoulders, to the point I feel like a solider.
I never asked for this lifestyle, you put me on exile. When my only crime was being my mother’s daughter, so why have you put me up for slaughter. 
One thing is for sure, I never asked to be called mature. I took ot as a compliment, but I didn’t know the consequences it would implement. 
If I could go back and time, I’d take the words right out of your mouth, if it meant my life wouldn’t go south. 
In a different life, where I got to be a could bit instead I got defiled. I never got to be curious, instead I just became furious. At the life I was handed, what could have been but I knew deep down within I would never win. I knew it was fate, it was not up for debate. I didn’t even get the chance to hesitate, for it was all on my plate, I had no escape.
I thought my worth had to be earned and assured. I searched for a meaning, a reason, a cure.
I never even now what I was fighting for, I just couldn’t take it anymore. So therefore I learned to keep my feelings close, wearing your words like an unspoken oath. 
I thought my strength would make me sure,
But I was just a a child, when you told me I was mature.