what they don’t know: me

what they don’t actually know
is that I cry myself to sleep
in almost every night
regretting paths
I did or did not
take.

what they don’t know
is that I am clueless
of my own self
what do I
really want
to do, to be,
in this so-called
life.

how afraid,
how anxious I can be,
how lonely I am sometimes,
even when I’m not alone.
how misunderstood,
how unheard,
how pressured,
how quiet; yet loud, inside.

what they don’t know,
they don’t know,
me. 

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