I was always a taker.

Never a giver.

Covered in thick, crimson blood,

Metal to the taste.

All I ever did was take.

Take the freedom and satisfaction of others.

It hurts.

People all around me give

Out of their hearts.

And I’d toss it.

Next.

Again?

I always thought it was boring.

Peoples emotions, feelings.

Because I had my own group of people that did the same.

Until my perspective shifted. Things became cheaper to go in my mind, like the thought of shutting peoples opinions.

Stubborn heart, blooming into a desperate need of attention. Of attachment. Of attempting to gain more.

More attention.

Less freedom.

The freedom of my emotions,

The freedom of my expression.

It was always hindered by someone’s opinion or their point of view.

And my fragile heart went along it.

I always did.

My youthful appetite changed, I didn’t care about friends, or what my mother should make for dinner.

It was about if I was appealing to the eye of interaction. That’s what made people hate me.

I hated myself for it.