Do you think you're funny?
You crawl up the back of my neck and over my ears in hot footsteps.
You push the blush against my cheeks so harshly, you beg to be seen.
You like the attention, you crave it.
I don't.
But that doesn't matter, does it?
You want us to be right in the middle of the stage, you want me to burn and buckle under the spotlight, you want everyone to stare and laugh.
You dig out every insecurity because those are the best to pick and prod at, aren't they?
Such a comic.
I didn't know that my stutter was all that funny, but you and your red footprints seem to think so.
Tears of laughter glisten on your cheeks, real ones burn mine.
Your laughter only makes it worse anyways.
C-c-can yo-ou u-u-unders-stand m-me?
Oh, and let's not forget about the jiggle of my thighs or stomach.
Hilarious.
You shove my comfort down, you smother my confidence.
Now I can't even order food or have a phone call without you and your jokes.
Why aren't I laughing?
