I found an old photo of me.
Two years ago, about.
It made my brain bleed.

Flowers poured out of my eyes.
I tried to contain myself.
I promise I tried.

I could see it all in her face.
She smiled.
It almost covered her pain.

And maybe.
Just maybe.
She actually thought she was happy.

Fragile, Delicate
Though pretty, I’m still a bug.
I lie to protect.

I don’t hate.
I try not to anyways.
I try not to hate people.
I try not to hate their flaws.

We are all imperfect, right?
We can’t help our mistakes.
We try.
We fail.

But

I don’t like when you tell me what I am.
I don’t like when you assume what I think.
I don’t like when you try to put out my flame.
I don’t like when you tell me I’m wrong because you want to be right.

I try really hard not to hate.
But sometimes,
you make it very hard.