Self Taught Reality | a poetry book

Hatred

Nobody cares about me or my words so why do I even bother.
Nobody says or shares anything with me because I'm the same.

Because I tried to get away but it just made me seem hateful and unappreciative.

Nobody turns their head when I walk in,
but that's unrealistic, everything I do every song I choose is dramatic, erratic.

I'm most likely useless, I most likely will never finish learning this language.
All I do is predict a future that may never happen.
If I decided to start writing with capital letters first and continue with lower cases maybe I'd do better.

I copy most moves, I tend to most crews, my brain cannot produce its own images and it's leading me to a blue lagoon.

And while my skin has spots, they're not pretty ones they're not the constellations that everyone wants or the lines that define how happy someone has been in their life.

If there's hell I'll go there; for no particular reason but because I deserve the worst of this.
My voice doesn't match this body either, does yours?

My teeth are trying to escape my skull and I know all I do is talk about me but I saved some space for you because there are people with no family.

But never mind, I won't talk to you as that might be intoxicating, if I was an animal I'd be a snake.

If I tore you down would you forgive me? I'm sorry but that's all I think about besides my own problems.

Which makes me wonder if I'm insane cause I don't even have problems.
This is going down a path I didn't want, but then again when do I even get what I want.
I don't know how to end this.