I trusted them—
like a toddler trusts gravity.
And guess what?
I fell flat. Face-first. Again.

I loved them—
with all the drama of a K-drama lead.
They loved me back like…
a cat loves water.

They called my very valid emotional breakdown
a "teenage mood swing."
Yeah. Sure.
And earthquakes are just the Earth stretching.

Every breath, every day—
a dramatic soap opera.
Except I’m the lead
and the audience and the writer
—and no one’s paying me for it.

I listened to “Fight Song” for the 397th time,
thinking it might pump me up.
But turns out, music can’t fix
chronic underappreciation
or autocorrect turning ‘I’m fine’ into ‘I’m fired’ (frustration)

******?
Please. The internet called me that yesterday.
Today, I’m “emotionally unstable with main character energy.”
Upgrade.

Exaggerating?
Only my ****** expressions.
This is real life, baby.
Starring me: the misunderstood meme queen.

I’m 18.
They say I act 12.
But my mental age test said 32.
So what am I?
A human age Rubik’s cube?
Good luck solving me without peeling the stickers.

So I’ll wait till I’m 32.
Maybe I’ll have a cactus farm.
Or a PhD in sarcasm.
But patience?
I couldn’t even wait for popcorn in the microwave.

And no—this isn’t attention-seeking.
This is therapy with Wi-Fi.
Posted right here on HelloPoetry
’cause apparently, therapists don’t take memes as currency.