Depressed Souls.

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Every time that I step out
I feel the words leaving their mouths.
I know, they haven’t found me yet
But I still hear the words, my ears haven’t met.

So, I stay in my room.
The smelly, suffocating room
That became my safe haven
And I still consider it as my only heaven.

The mouths, used not only for eating food
But for also tearing the confidence of souls,
Have been used on me, not for good,
But for breaking my mold.

Can they ever stop judging me?
Do I always have to hide myself?
I do want to enjoy life as it is
But why am I being stopped by my own self?

I can’t leave my room
Cause every time that I do,
I am always being told what to do
And how I should look.

Can someone please help me?
I can’t live hiding for the rest of eternity.
Looking at my own selfie,
I think that’s how they see me.

So, I take time in criticizing
Every single thing that is about me.
I can’t go out looking like this.
Cause I have that Agoraphobia bullshit.
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