The pressure in my lungs always gets harder
When inside my ears I hear them say: “you need to say something”
Making my voice immediately sound loud and loud
About the oceans between my memories and claims
The thing is, never in history there was a storyteller who doesn’t believe in itself
So the story never dies deep inside
Even though it’s a lie
For the times that February has 30 days
The state of “this is never gonna change” is a necessity to open and say
But no matter where I’m
Every time the fragrance of one of my biggest fears
And the rough texture offenses my 10
I feel home again
What if it’s a drop and not oceans then?
I’d like to make myself believe that I don’t need to tell if I don’t want
But I feel like they are not different than me when asking what they can’t
Defined by many of us as the cruel ones or the ones that make you feel like you’re much more than the rest
The cold hearts or the warm houses
A lot of times those who do not care
The ones who judge
or the ones who said
But when looking from the sky
They are all on the same land
Thinking that they need to tell
But always asking what they have always said
Pretending they are on one side of the fight
When they are the pressing question and the lie
Like you and I.