I am writing because
I have this thing where I must always be moving.
My feet My hands My eyes.  
Something.

I am writing here because I need some way of telling you how I feel.
A way to tell you why I wish for the things I long for.

I am writing here to tell you, Universe, God or anything in between…
That I am…Tired.

I am so tired of being tired.
I grow tired of the constant confusion of my purpose, my meaning.

“You’re beautiful”… but I don’t feel it.
“ You’re remarkable and intelligent” … but my body begs to differ.  

I know I am not special when I ask why I cannot see the things others claim to see.

I can’t be the only one..

If i could just be
All of the things I pretend to be
Then every little thing
Would be just fine.

The "i" isn't capitalized.
purposely.
If it were... it would be a lie.
For i am not big and tall.
Truthfully i am
smaller than the chances of me
being all of the things i want to be.  

and that's microscopic.