Honey, I don't even ******* know.
What the hell is a crush supposed to be anyway?
  
Sweet warmth filling up my soul?
A skipped heartbeat with a mere touch to the shoulders?
Afraid to look too long in fear of falling into fascination with the way  their eyelids touch their cheek?

I don't even know.
I don't want to know.

I'm the worst sort of lover.
I don't even like people.
I mean, I love people, but not PEOPLE.

Besides, why would anyone like me back?

Miss Congeniality, not Miss Sexuality
I don't- don't know how to- how to-
****.
I can ******* swear just fine, but I can't even say-

See? What's there to like?

I don't know what love feels like.
Does everyone just...know?

I'm not pretty.

It's not that I don't know what to say.
I just don't know if I believe it

Deserve it.
(Hypocrite).


"No, not right now." (Smile, **** it)


Honey, I don't crush.
I fall.

only five,
clueless about
life,
thinks it's all
rainbows and flowers,
but soon life
will be his worst
nightmare,
and it will be
the storm after
the calm,
life will come
to him as a
heavy rain shower,
in which he will
get wet and
catch a **cold.

the feeling of exclusion is the knife in my stomach
and every time one of the people who
if you asked them would say
"he's my friend, yeah!"
tweets or talks to or does anything really
that makes me believe they are excluding me
I get sick.

It makes me want to smash porcelain plates
and take sledgehammer to wooden furniture.
I want something beautiful to ******* burn.
because you've ******* burned my insides,
and now I am not beautiful on the inside.
I am bitter and charred,
and I would rather feel nothing than this.