you think it's cute
that I can't talk to people without blushing and stuttering
or walk in crowded areas
or look people in the eye
or talk on the phone
you think it's funny
to touch me
or play with my hair
or draw on my work
and mess up my things
just to get a reaction
you think im happy
when I have self inflicted scars all over my body
and I can't look in the mirror
without hating everything I see
you think you know me
when even I can't begin to describe the kinds of thoughts that go through my mind daily
what makes me cry at 3am
or what makes me want to cease to exist
YOU ARE READING
dark poems
Poetrythis seems like poetry and prose sometimes it's more than you'd suppose see, what my mind creates, goes but what that is, nobody knows
