By Janhavi B.
I am just a mess,
Made out of my own regrets,
Painted with the guilt in my head,
Is it my fault?
That I stumble and fall,
Due to the heavy weight,
Upon my shoulders,
On the outside:
I am lifeless and dry,
So why does the heart inside,
Wail and cry,
My mouth agrees,
Yet my mind regrets the decision
I do not stamp my feet,
But that does not mean my heart does not rage,
I am calm,
I have control,
So, yes,
I am mature for my age,
But is it by choice,
Or by fate?

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