I don’t like being broken .
To be deconstructed and made into metaphors .
To be compared to the pretty things I simply can’t be for myself .
To sound like the waves of the oceans but exist only as a ripple in a random puddle .
To look like an early bloomer in a field of sunflowers but exist only as a dead seed .
But listen to me world , I may be **** .
I may be destruction bound to plead for nothing but attention .
I am bountiful in my presence yet lack so much affection .
I spread . Fields and fields of disregard .
I am unwanted . I am undesired . A penniless card .

But I am something .
And some things are beautiful.