The Fraud in Me

I realized I hated her kind. The type that had it easy. Born in stability, not a silver spoon but close to one.

The perfect voice, accent, the slender silk skin with the perfect head shape and beautiful proportionate face.

The type of people who empathized for a situation they were not born into and could never truly comprehend it.

The type that tried to sympathize, spare a little discomfort for a world of self-content, prestige, and peace in their well structured life.

The one who had options.

I hated her kind but made all efforts to secretly appease her because she always had more than a few things to spare for people like me.

The type that blatantly assumed you shared their struggles, not knowing that your journey, full of hurdles, had snatched a piece of your soul as you carried the weight of your family and your past along with you.

People who effortlessly got things you struggled, begged without the slightest regard for your self-dignity until there was none left -and the few you were born with was gone with desperation.

I hated people like her, but I needed people like her in my life because she had connections into a world I dreamt of having.

She could sometimes spare the scraps that fell from her plates with you – thinking it was nothing, while it meant the world to you.

I needed her and for that I despised her, except for the occasional moments where I thought “Ah! poor innocent soul, she has no idea how I feel”


By Daniella D.

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