I care. Really, I do.
I’m a monster and a ******,
                    but I still have a heart,
                                                albeit rather
unfortunately.

I’m trying my best to be
   less of a no one and more of a someone,
                                                        more of a person.
To care more,
          to love more,
                     to take less
                        and give more.

I don’t care if it leaves me

broken.

But in some way I still

do.

It’s selfish to put myself before everyone else,
                                                          Yes, I know that-
And it’s horrid that I think I should treat myself
to the privilege of wanting something
that isn’t going to go to
                         someone else.
                     Yes, I know that too-

And it’s such a pity that I can’t bring myself
to tear my heart out of my chest
or rip my soul out of my body
and give it to you like I desperately want to.
Because I care.

Really,

         I do.

There’s more times than I can count
That I’ve wondered whether I was enough.
That I’ve wondered if I was good.

I can’t create art that people fall in love with
I can’t be there to support those I love
I can’t be pretty or smart or socially acceptably good.

I don’t know why
I really don’t

Sometimes I feel like
I’m not trying hard enough
And sometimes I feel like
I’m trying too hard
For something that can’t happen

So tell me,
For all that I love,
Am I enough?
Am I good?

I crave validation.
I want—no, need it like a lifeline,
Like a child in the face of a sweet treat,
Like a bird to a worm writhing from the ground,
Like a starving man at the mere sight of food,
Like a wolf to whoever dares harm its pack.
It sears through my body like white, burning pain,
It rips me of my sight to consequence,
It’s a drowning poison, yes.
But how am I supposed to let go?
How am I supposed to not look at any sort of praise and think,
God, I want that.
It tears me apart like a knife does in snow,
Jelly,
         Water,
                     Air,
But I would be a liar to say that isn’t what I want.
Is it a fault of mine that I desire with all my ****** up being
for something that isn’t a momentary
“Okay,”
              “Alright,”
                      ­           “Good job,”
                                                       “You’re fine,”
It’s not, it’s not okay or alright or good or fine,
I need someone to scream at me that what I’ve done is perfect,
More than great,
More than amazing,
More than wonderful, or spectacular,
More than perfect.
And if I can’t have that,
Then at least yell at me that what I’ve done is nothing,
At least beat the ****** **** out of me
And tell me to go **** myself.
Because that hurts less than
A bunch of half-hearted responses that
I never know how to interpret over text,
And never know how to comprehend in speech.
Just spare me the misery, that’s all I need.
I’d prefer you be cruel than make me guess
What you’re thinking.
Because it always eventually occurs to me that
Neither what you’re thinking or saying
Are the validation I crave.
So just save us all the trouble
And put me out of my ****** misery
Already.
Because if I’m not everything,
Then what can I be but nothing?

Is it my fault
That I look at someone
And feel repulsed
By the way their
Body flows?
That I can’t look at anyone
And not rip
And pick apart
Every little flaw they have;
A crooked smile,
Lopsided eyes,
A tilted nose,
Hairy limbs,
Flaky skin,
Tilted lips,
An asymmetrical face,
A too-big forehead,
Puffy cheeks,
A bloated stomach,
Humongous thighs,
Giant arms,
A wide frame,
Bushy eyebrows,
Monkey ears,
Uneven feet,
Messed up hands,
A normality in a flawed creation
Yet it’s all that catches my eyes
When I look at
People in the lifts,
In the shops,
On the street,
In the corridors,
In a home,
In a room,
In the mirror.
“Wrong! Wrong!” My brain screams
In terror
It’s right, I suppose,
That monster in the reflection must be
The consequences of an
Error.

Don’t leave me here alone
Where I can’t see
Where the light won’t consume me whole
When it was never meant to be

I’ve wished on a shooting star
that isn’t really there
And God forbid I stay in that
Place where no one really cares

But I can’t run forever
From this inevitable cave in
A hundred shattered glasses
With bloodstains that I kin

Melted sand, whatever,
it’s my own ****** loss
But not even the fine print
Ever told me the cost

To being alive
To waking up per day

So if I stay in the darkness
Don’t be surprised if I don’t come out again.

Woken up from a dream,
the world the same
as it’d been left
My bed still creaks,
The sky still rains,
The birds still scream my fading name
My heart still beats,
My legs still break
I’ll burn to death in the wildfire
And wake up,
Still the same.