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Charmour Jul 12
I try to fit in,
to find my place in this world,
to make friends,
to really know people—
but it feels like
they don’t want to know me.

Maybe it’s because...
I’m weird?
Too emotional,
too attached,
too much?

Maybe I don’t dress like them,
don’t speak like them—
I’m loud,
I talk a lot,
I feel too deeply,
I love too hard.

I guess I just don’t fit in.
And maybe...
maybe I’m not meant to.
why cant fit in ? maybe im trying too hard !?
jon May 31
I’ve never been good at asking for what I need

when I do, I fight myself every step of the way

it doesn’t seem to come out right—
or maybe I just don’t say the right words

maybe I’m not being seen or heard

is there a misunderstanding,
or do I feel misunderstood?

I don’t know—
maybe it’s all in my head

what I do know is that I don’t have the energy
to fight to be seen

maybe I’m just being dramatic

maybe I feel rejected

I don’t know if that’s sensitivity, or if my feelings are actually valid

I feel a missed bid for connection

I feel as if I am giving more than I am receiving

at times, it feels as if there’s no reciprocity

I desire, want, and need
to not feel so alone with another human being

I don’t know if I’m being irrational with this,
or dismissive to myself

I have an intense want to avoid and withdraw

I don’t know if I’m just being sensitive

I just wanted ten minutes of time, and it seems as if there’s no time at all

I expect myself from others
and let myself down when I don’t receive that

maybe I have unrealistic expectations of others

maybe I am asking for too much

maybe I am just being sensitive.
a thought process of feeling too much, and nothing at all  in the same breath.
IdleHvnds Feb 20
Letting go —  is something I need to practice.
Why should I hold on to things that cause me pain.

I stand here on fire, seeking no relief, engulfed in blistering agony..
I won’t allow myself to extinguish the flames licking at my skin.
In fear that I might be just imaging things.

I don’t cry out, I don’t say a word —
I watch as my skin melts,
beads of moister gathering in the corner of my eyes,
Rolling down my cheek, these tears give little alleviation.

I walk further into the fire, as proof to myself,
This isn’t bad, I’m just being sensitive.
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