Dear Society.

I know it probably don't mean much to you but its been 21 I've been holding on to you.

I like talking to me, I learnt to talk to me before anyone else but one day before my Mother left the house she casually informed me that you might think me mad.

I like my solitude but that makes me very proud.

Sometimes I wonder, if I had held a conversation with our Albino neighbour at Fajol would I know how to interact?

If that pry 3 Lekan had stayed, would we still talk?

If Mary never called that pry 3 me names for tying my lace up, will I wear more of shoes now?

Was I really a talkative or I loved being vocal?

You see, I feel insecure now so I never actually look at me for long.

I start conversations by asking for favorite colors. I never really speak up or use my actual voice because I'm scared of not being good enough.

I'm always sorry. Worrying about everything except me.

Being seen scares me now, every call of my name makes me fear.

I'm not blaming you, I'm telling you I woke up tired one day and stopped caring by plunging into your ocean of care.

I can't swim. I worry about being a bother to everyone, hardly feel like a vibe.

It hurts. I don't remember the person I really loved being. I hurt deep. I'm nonchalant but I cry over my slippers being worn without my permission.

I used to be a mouth but I'm all eyes now.

I want to feel excitement and show it. Only smiling occasionally sucks. I want to dance in the crowd and be excited to see my friends.