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?