hunched low, pulled down by Frequent insecurities,

walking slow, pulled back by Laced uncertainties,

lost perceptions of what you might think All perceive,

refusing that you’re Willingly being deceived,

turn the Lights on, it’s time for you to apprehend,

that Everything you linger over just depends,

on Surreal rose-colored glass with witch you contend,

accept yourself; be satisfied in your own Skin.