In a Few Years

(still editting)

There is very little that I like to say.
Scratch that.
There is nothing I like to say. Except this,
"There are too many people here."
"Can I go home?"
"I don't wanna do this."

Cause I have to practice on conversation.
You mean I really have to engage and say hello?
See I can count the friends I have on one hand. Or, uhm, one finger.. One knuckle?

I don't even know what a friend is? And every time I look in a dictionary,  I become more confused and "a person whom one knows and one has a bond of mutual affection" does not describe any person I know who has ever walked in my life.

Because I love to much and my heart fell off my sleeve years ago, when my Dad told me that "feelings don't matter"

And by matter, he didn't mean a "physical substance in general"

He meant...
See #3, "the reason for dostress or a problem"

Meaning that, I over compensated for what my Daddy taught me, because those nights that he ignored my stepmother crying alone, screaming her pain and my own mother, made excuses for her husband toppling me over like a house in the way of a city, I became a
"Rebel"

Now I am known for the piercings through my skin and the ink in my flesh because somehow, the word "broken" written across my arm,

Means "it could be a lot worse."

And Ill tell you, when people old enough to be my grandma, tell me "if you were my kid, Id kick your ass"

It makes me angry.
Angry that there are too many people around me.
Angry that I had to come.
Angry that I cannot just live in a hole, in my bed with the curtains drawn, alone, with the only person who has "mutual affection"...

Who will never tell me "feelings don't matter."

Me.
"Used by a speaker to refer to himself or herself as the object of a verb or preposition."