Puzzle of life.
Friendships, love, connections,
all proper pieces.
And yet I can't find anywhere I fit
in this unsolvable jigsaw.

I've only lived in pain
so I can die in peace.

Why do I write?
To express myself,
or is it because I'm too scared to
express myself in a "real way",
like you said.

There's no point.
Even now I'm running away
from actually talking to you.
I'm sorry.

I always was a coward,
took to the pen before the tongue.

And now all the words I've ever
ever
written,
torn up by their creator.

I'm sorry,
I can't keep acting like I'm okay.
Every conversation like this,
every word,
just makes me cry more and more
every day.

I know I'm selfish.
for wanting to be seen
as much as her.
I try but,
that'll never happen right?

You are a monster.
You must be.
With 15 limbs,
and green skin,
and scales.
When you bleed,
its blue, not red.

You definitely must be
a monster.
Because no human,
could hurt me so bad.

If my feelings would show
their ugly faces right now,
I wouldn't be able to fight back,
would I?