give me a number,
the appropriate label,
and compare me to the rest.

set me aside for a rainy day when you’ve exhausted through your list.

lets face it,
i’m just another: nothing more, nothing less.

everything i am to you
is that which you can see.

you simplify me down
to something for your frail mind read.

sometimes I wonder if this feeling is the voice of my own perceived inadequacy?
will someone ever really just love me for me?