When I used to be seven,
I aspired to be Benjamin Tennyson,
Morphing into my favorite heroes,
Saving the day, again and again.

Fast forward to the year 2023,
I wear faces, not masks,
Hiding my pain from the world.
I'm afraid to show my scars from the battlefield,

Fearful that poets might romanticize my grief,
Portraying my wounds on canvases,
But failing to truly grasp the pain that I bear,
A complex journey, too intricate to...