I’m not good enough.
No, seriously. I'm not
I'm not even close.
You ever peel something open and find it's just…
rot?

I don’t sleep. I don’t eat.
I don't move unless I gave to
I don’t know if that’s- I don't know what it is
or just me being... me.
(Whatever that means.)

I’m too obsessive.
Too intense. Too much.
I grip people until they break
and then I blame them for leaving
Ha.
God, I’m disgusting.

I’m not active enough.
I'm not anything enough
I stare at the wall and call it a day.
Bravo.
Standing ovation for the great disappearing act.

I don’t belong in this skin.
It feels like wearing someone else's guilt.
Do you get that?
No, of course you don't.
Why would you?

I’m too protective—
Like, weirdly.
Like I try to save people who didn’t ask
and then I get mad when they don’t thank me....
What the hell is wrong with me? What is wrong with me.

I’m not calm. I’m not kind.
I’m not soft.
I’m sharp edges in a child’s room.
I *cut people.*
With silence. With words. With absence.
Then I call it love.

I’m ugly.
Not like—oh poor me, I’m ugly.
Like... I make people uncomfortable.
I smile and they flinch.
I talk and they look for the exit.
I EXIST and they wish I didn’t.

I’m not there enough.
Not when it counts.
Not when they cry.
Not when I should be.
And when I am, I make it worse.
I poison every room I enter.

I’m a bad person.
No. Wait—
I’m not even a person.
I’m a problem with a face
I’m a checklist of red flags..
I’m what happens when you let the rot go too long.

I dont deserve love.
Or kindness. Or grace.
I deserve silence.
I deserve space.
As in distance.
As in far away.
As in nowhere near you.
Or anyone.

I don't know why I do this
I don’t know why I talk.
I don’t know why I’m still here
and not somewhere dark and soft
and final.

I need a hug.
That’s the worst part
I say all this, and still
I want someone to hold me
like I’m not
the thing
I know
I am.