I am not like my Mother.
A liar, a cheat, who steals from my Father.

Yet I am not like my Father.
A manipulator, an angry man who enables my Mother.

But still I catch myself doing the same little things they do.
The lying, the anger, it all builds up. And now I can't come clean.

I love the thought of being selfless, but my every motive no matter what screams "what may I receive?"

I love the thought of being loved, especially.
But who would love a liar? A cheat? An angry man?

Well, I would.
I love myself and all my flaws because I know
one day I will drain them from me and I will
be at peace with the world and all these words; like forgotten
notes on a sheet of paper stuffed far out of reach.

I've realized in the last year:
My problems are nothing compared to the world's.
My heartache is nothing compared to the world's.
And lastly, my kindness and sincerity is what makes me feel complete. I couldn't bear to live in a world where everyone was as big an ******* as me.

Or rather, the ******* I used to be.