This is my first time sharing anything that I have written to anyone besides my writing professors. This is something I wrote in 2014, So I hope you enjoy and leave any comments.

©    No Title Yet  ©


Physical fear.

Image of perfection.

Lifestyle, fashion, and career loom over like a nightmares shadow.

To be perfect.

To fit in.

To be beautiful, that’s all it takes to make it half way down the line.

I am not perfect, nor do I fit in.

The beauty I posses are in the words that flow throughout the pages set in front of me.

I am dark.

Dark within darkness, wrapped lightly with judgment and lies.

I am deceit personified in human form, taking what is necessary for me to survive in a world filled with unsettled cruelty and miss behavior.

I stand still, glued to the ground that supports my cause, while glancing at myself through a two-way mirror.

My hair sits tightly on my head, skin of melted chocolate covered in a midnight dress.

My shoes are heavy, heavy from the weight I have collected with each step, with each journey and with each failed attempts.

So here I stand, judging as they have judged on the other side, separated by tainted glass and false hope.

I will never fit in.

Be perfect.


I will never be myself, as it lies dead and waiting to be buried.

I will never have a career because the hands of other hold me down.

I need a lifeline.

A moment of separation from the chaotic echoes that storm around me.

I stare into the dark irises I no longer recognize.

The determination to break free still burns.

It rages and swears, shakes and destroys the depression that eats away at the brain cells that are left fighting on.

I wipe the sweat off my face that could be confused as tears.

We don’t cry, not unless its worth it.

We don’t give up, until death has claimed our last breath.

And we don’t settle because the world is a gritty jungle, a maze of possibility lying in front of you.

I will never fit in.

Be perfect or beautiful.

But I still hold onto one flaw that has kept me alive.

I am deceit personified in human form, waiting for my turn at life.


© By Brittany Cortes ©







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