Sometimes life is a stranger,
sometimes
it's a mocking cover of who we are.
We live our lives in a photograph
where it seems a simple snap
will travel us around the world
and we all want to be loved for who we are
but are so starved for attention.
Sometimes we become a stranger to ourselves
we use to snap ourselves into a dusty box on the shelf,
become a distant memory,
then carry on into our futures.
Now it seems as if we're memorializing our lives
in stone as we go
and living in a state of nostalgia mourning.
Will we ever move on?
Do any of us know who we are anymore?
Where is the line on the page?
Where is the space for us to be ourselves, to be free?
Where is the empty page to be filled with individuality?
It's as if we're all victims of ourselves
and the pressure to post everything
for the world to see.
What happened to privacy?
We have the entire world at our fingertips
and instead of taking caution like we should,
we invite it into homes to personally destroy our wellbeing.
The price we pay for adoration
is often the cost of our self esteem.
