Because who in
their right mind would
ever want to be
an open book,
a worthless shell,
a tag-along?
Who would ever
want to be weaker than
they seem, not as good as
they appear, so more utterly
unnecessary than their friends
seem to think? Why
would anyone ever want
to battle demons long dead, cry
into the night, jump
at every stranger
that gets angry, have
skin that aches
to be destroyed? Why
would anyone
ever want
to be me?