I look at the things I've done
I play a recording of songs I sung
I read all the words I've written
All the pictures I've taken
All drawings I've made
And all the memories I've collected...
With a feeling of dettachment
as if none of it belonged to me anymore
I gulp for air as I work the courage to stare at the mirror
And as if just to feed my numb soul
I see a girl that I can't recognize as myself.
One beating after the other
One more piece of our identity taken away
One more part of our integrity forcefully overrided
One more dream erased
Until that girl could no longer fight.
And if my true self has lost the fight
if that girl is long gone
What is left of me?
What is left to keep fighting for?
