Perfectionism is a disease.
I can't think of what to write so why write anything?
I can't get straight As so why get any?
If I can't be perfect what's the point?
My passions aren't fun unless I'm perfect at them. Why try if there's a possibility I'll fail?
Might as well give up. Spare your dignity.
You're never going to be good enough.
People congratulate me for losing weight.
"You're thinner than before!"
I'm sick.
"You're looking great!"
i'm unwell.
It's not a glow up. I'm deteriorating.
You make fun of my breakdowns to my face but i'm begging you for help.
You don't even hear me when I'm screaming in someone's face.
I'm not okay.
How loud do I have to be for you to hear my cries?
If wishes fell like rain, then I certainly am a storm.
I wish I was pretty.
I pray whatever god may answer will grant my wish.
I wish I had more friends.
I'm left in the silence, wondering why I'm here.
I wish I had a purpose.
I don't know who I'm meant to be in life.
I wish the voices would stop.
I can't escape that which tells me to hurt everything.
I wish I had an umbrella.
I've never had a celebrity I like die before.
When I opened my phone to that name being the headline, my stomach dropped.
One of my favorite bands would never be the same.
Dead at 31, my brain couldn't fathom just how young that was. How short his life had been.
It makes me think about just how unpredictable everything can be.
A father, a son, a _friend— _ripped away from the people he loved.
How cruel a world, to drive someone to this point.
How cruel a god— if one even exists— to let this man perish.
Rest in peace, Liam. Your music lives on forever.
Just act natural.
Nobody knows what's in your mind except you.
Breathe.
Calm the panic.
Ignore the thoughts.
Clench your fists so tightly your knuckles turn white.
You aren't natural.
Wrong.
Everything is wrong.
The clock is too loud.
You're breathing too loud.
Everyone's gonna know that—
Stop.
Just act natural.
Sometimes I wonder if you think about me when you're happy.
It's midnight.
I wake up to your call coming through on my phone.
And I pick up, just like always.
I'm tired; you're drunk.
I'm sober; you're crying.
I always answer when you call, but you ignore every ring when I dial.
I leave a voicemail, but you can't even be bothered to text me back.
You always leave me on read, and I wonder why I keep waking up for you.
It's midnight.
I'm drunk.
I'm crying.
Nobody answers.
Who am I if not what people tell me to be?
What's the point, if not what everyone expects me to see?
I don't know who I am or why I'm here.
I have no purpose, I fear.
I'm a blank slate,
a blank canvas, an empty crate.
Paint me up
Fill me up
Make me what you want me to be.
Carve me up
Build me up
Make me like what you want to see.
But then what's left?
Nothing.
I can never seem to sleep.
When I'm alone, there's nothing to silence the hurricane of thoughts in my head.
You'll never be enough.
Why am I not enough? __ __ Nobody loves you.__ __ Why does nobody love me? __ __ I'm sitting up til sunrise, letting the circles under my eyes darken.
The monster isn't under my bed, but it rests upon it.
It doesn't think it's enough.
It doesn't think anyone loves it.
I am a monster.
I have scales and horns growing from my skin.
I have sharp pointy teeth.
I can no longer recognize myself in the mirror.
Sitting in bed, I am alone in my room.
Door shut tightly, might the monsters come.
save me.
If you saw me right now, would you be disappointed or proud?
If you knew what made me who I am, would you avoid the future?
Would you claw your way out of your skin, or would you make the same mistakes I did?
I'm sorry for what we are.
I'm sorry for what we've done.
We're deteriorating, and I ask just that you forgive me.
Forgive me for growing these horns.
Forgive me for the way my skin turns to scales.
Forgive the way the mirror shatters to avoid showing my reflection.
Forgive me for the monster we have become.
