The fear is so utterly real before I awaken every morning. The fear of not knowing which version of me will roll out of the bed to start each day.
Will it be the confident but broken me?
What will I see when I stare back at myself in the mirror?
Will it be the lonely, depressed wallowing in my own pity from past mistakes me?
Who knows which one is going to be staring back today.
Lord I try try so hard to be the best me I can be.
So why is it that my greatest defeat will be the fear of being the real me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem