Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash

A poem fueled with indignation

I feel judged by the lot

when I am trying to be more.

More of myself.

More of the woman I left

behind when I was surviving,

and I didn’t have time for thriving.

But now I do.

I revise my behaviour and my childhood

and I find terrible things,

but sometimes, I also find it.

My authenticity.

So why do they judge me?

For trying to be free

or for doing it differently?

I really don’t care.

I don’t have any more time to spare

on people who never say:

Hey, your priority is your mental health.