Looking back 

Ive just been a collection of stories

Attempts to be funny,  to entertain

inherently nothing with me 

It bothers me

I bother me

I make myself sad

And refuse to allow me to be happy 

blank slates

i realise i dont know how to be with myself

i dont know how to be alone without

being

sad

uncomfortable

hyper aware

of the emptiness

in my reality and soul

 

maybe i should fill myself up

so that i can be filled with stories, laughter and entertainment when i’m with someone else

a blank sleight of hand

a numerical

i’m always talking to myself

throwing tantrums fighting with me

scolding, getting that corrective order

 

there was no one in my life

that i could be myself with

 

without hating me

or being castaway

cold quiet rejection

why?

why am i like this

tears

crying because i cry for who i am

i wish this would stop i wish

i would stop

 

at least i know, i can’t live without art.

at least, i write

 

I just want to be 

Its just my coping mechanism with a world that doesn’t care about me, i just love it back even more but underneath all that it just hurts even more,  i feel so exhausted.

 

 

 

A side of me scolds so what aee you gonna do about that?  Being sad and not having a shred of faith in yourself is just an wxcuse to not improve!! 
And ywt my heart hurts because it feels right to be in so much pain