Old Me

I miss the old me.
The one who laughed freely.
The one who smiled genuinely.
The one who doesn’t cry every night.
The one not stuck in fight or flight.
The one who found joy in little things.
The one who didn’t overthink meanings.

Now she’s turned into shell of a person,
With mind like a prison.
Tired of the emptiness,
Hoping to feel anything but the heaviness.
Devoid of any emotions,
And full of internal commotions.

The old me might be dead.
After all she’s been carrying the weight
Of all things left unsaid.

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