I Don't Think You Know

Cold Tiles

I sit on the floor in my bathroom,

And lock the door.

I open up Wattpad,

And sit on the floor.

Here I escape,

Here I do what I love,

I write and I write,

A new me fitting like a glove.

Or is it the old me?

Because that's who I was.

The dork/nerd/geek in the corner,

The real me fitting like a glove.

But I'm sitting here now,

Feeling sorry for myself,

And waiting for the real me,

Who walks in like someone else.

And I feel sad,

Because of all the lies,

But I sit here motionless,

I'm too angry to cry.

The way everyone leaves me,

If not now then in the end,

Every bystander on the street,

Every close confidant or friend.

I'm so angry I want to hit something,

Pretty much like I always do,

Maybe I need anger management,

Or maybe you do too.

The way people condescend me,

Insults and jokes that rile,

But I sit here motionless,

On the bathroom's cold tiles.