I can feel my sanity fleeing,
harsh memories sliding
through my fingers like sand.

I find comfort in isolation,
because the fleeting feeling
of acceptance by my peers
becomes so minimal that
it keeps me up at night.

There are millions of stars
outside and I hope one day,
far from now,
when I can find a way to
put in words just how hard it is
that you can't love me back,
we can lay there
and count them together.

I dream of it.

But I also dream of
being someone else and
I have spent the past few years
trying to correct an
emotional abuse that just
won't seem to fix itself.
I won't get better until the
existence of my internal isolation
is so minimal that
I won't have to hide
under covers the second
my sadness kicks in.

I meet people that
are beautiful and
I try to be beautiful,
I try to sit straighter,
I try not to push people away
but I just can't be more than
a wilting flower.

I just can't fix it.