Expectations

Expectations.

They expect me to be blissful.

They call me the happy girl, pretty girl, everybody loves me girl.

They call me sing song girl, I look up to her girl, everyone’s best friend girl.

Avoiding the darkness that I actually am, too scared to face the reality that sits in me.

I am not the flowers, the light the sun emits.

I am not the school girl, I am not the girl who makes you happy, he happy, she happy, mom happy, dad happy.

I am not a word, I am not a sound, I am not a stereotype.

Not a number, not a color, not a size, not a feeling.

I am not to be characterized, not to be made simple, simply because you cannot and do not try to understand the being that I am.

For today I will wake up me, and tomorrow I will wake up somebody else.

Expectations and dreams you all dream for me are not the dreams I dream for myself.

I scream out every single day begging and pleading for someone to hear me and nobody ever does.

It is not self pity, it is not a cry for help.

It is only a need, a need for someone to see me for who I really am.

Someone, anybody, a friend a lover who does not attempt to characterize me, put me into a box.

I won’t fit in one box, I will fit in many.

I am not a butterfly, I am not a rainbow.

My name is Courtney.

My name is Jasmine.

My name is Lonely.

My name is Happy.

My name is Somber.

My name is Frightened.

My name is Dreamy.

My name is Expectation.

Envy