Tired of thinking, tired of understanding, tired of having to always be up to par.
The screams alternate with violent silences, with gazes that would not like to meet.
It is from hatred, after all, that I was born.
Nobody sees me, nobody hears me.
No more kisses to console my small defeats, no hug to celebrate the centimeters on the wall.
No hand has noticed the blossoming of my wings.
