this isn't really a poem
more like my thoughts
but i guess that's all a poem is anyway

i know for a fact
that i love my brother
and i love a few friends of mine
but my parents?
that's a bit more complicated
i love them, i think
but it's hard to do
when they hate who you are
and you're constantly having to act
like someone else
and it's to the point
where you're unsure
whether you're even the real you
or if the fake you is the real you
and all of reality is blurred
and you want to run away more than anything
but at the same time you're waiting for death
when can reality become clear again
when can i know what freedom tastes like
when will i know who the real me is