i hate this i hate how this has come to be my life i hate to think of the version i could’ve been of the version that isn’t trapped the version that was allowed to make mistakes the version who was allowed to cry the version that felt free the version i could never be i am the one who can’t cry i am the one who compresses everything i am the one who gets scolded at as i will never forget that day i made coffee for my father that day in which i put his coffee in a different cup than usual that day, i learned my lesson i learned not to change to always stay the same to always be predictable to never make mistakes to never talk back even if i know i’m right i shut my mouth i know that even if i speak, nothing would change everything will stay the same whether i talk or don’t so i’ve learned to be quiet i’ve learned to keep my head down to just listen and obey to survive this prison and then my parents dare to ask me “why don’t you ever talk” don’t they get it? they made me like this but they’ll never understand