Me. The Bull

I've lost my will to write.
I come up with quotes but can't put them together without feeling depleted.
My words can be great but are surrounded by unworthy thoughts.
I am tired of being sad over the same goddamn things.
My heart is worth more than boys, their stupid games, alcoholic drinks, and crappy movies.
Screw my hearts worth, try to measure the net worth of my head.
My brain with it's tangled thoughts that bleed through the tissue around it.
The quotes I think about when I think about nothing and everything combined.
My will to see out of my pretty little eyes and open my tiny but boisterous mouth when everything in the universe is against me.
I have grown up bearing all my weight and the weight of this goddamned earth on my shoulders when I was born completely fucking innocent.
I was picked to be a bull.
Mission: Support and protect is what my upbringing was called.
They gave the girl who's suppose to hold everyone's baggage shitty knees, and the same girl who is suppose to open pill bottles, and make sure everyone takes their meds hands that suck at being hands and doing the one job they were created to do.
And when all else failed and they decided to give her the worst thing ever.
And that's when they gave me you.
Because when I could finally manage my health, they thought putting stress on my heart would push me into overdrive.
Fuck the fact that the world she lived in already revolved putting everything before her, you gave her the once thing she couldn't have and that was trust, and belief that one person can grab her hand and make all the gravity weighing down on her shoulders seem just a little more distributed.
You combined the struggles of every known living organism and punched her in the stomach.
You.
The World.
God.
Screwed me.