misty, faint, and fading ideals
drown out at the promise of something real
i've kept pace for far too long
ignored desire, told myself i'm wrong
listened to everyone except for myself
defined only by interpersonal wealth
though i've been dismissed for years and years
i was once kissed while full of fear
not fear of falling, or fear of the new
but fear of standing still, of having to make due.
i've settled and settled, told myself i wasn't worth
said i need to ache to then find out my mirth
but what's worse than settling or telling yourself no?
it feels like you'll never truly be ready to let yourself go.
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