I called her Remi. To me, she was perfect. Remi was confident and graceful. She knew what she was doing.
Remi didn't have a panic attack in public. They didn't laugh at her. They didn't pull her pigtails. Remi didn't have pigtails. Remi was perfect. She didn't feel lonely. Remi didn't break down on the bathroom floor. She didn't hide her troubles. She didn't have any troubles.
Everyone liked her.
Remi wasn't me. I was Demi, only half of what she was. She was better than me. Remi was perfect. I wish I was Remi. I wish Remi existed.
Once when I wandered too far into the realm of my own thoughts,
I came across a fork in the road,
with signs pointing to the most obvious path.
Staying true to my indecisive self,
I turned around and asked for directions.
Behind me, sitting among all of my insecurities,
and wearing the most magnificent cloak of deceit,
was my old friend, Self-Doubt.
Since I couldn’t spot a good soul in sight,
I asked her, “which way shall I proceed?”
She told me to be the people-pleaser.
“Trod down the path of fake laughs and facades,
excessively nod your head and greet a person or two,
be ever willing to do what they desire
because ‘it’s as easy as pie’.
Let me join you in your adventure and teach you the ways of the world.”
Little did I know it was impetuous of me to agree to make amends,
for my former friend with her ill-intentioned advice,