Unique but not beautiful. For to be beautiful is not to be unique.

A big nose that stretches further than my lies do. I am no Pinocchio, but I am unique. To be a liar is not to be Pinocchio. But to have a nose longer than my lies means I leave a queasy feeling in the stomach of onlookers.

Eyes, they distract from a scan to the floor, but will it be enough? Am I enough? Am I lovable, if unsightly? Is to be unsightly, to be unlovable? Who am I if not lovable? What is love to purpose and what is purpose to love? Must I be anything at all?

Can I not lay in this bed drenched in my own sweat and still mean something? Does my purpose have to be more than being a person? If my purpose is to live, then what does living look like?

If I was living, then I would not be here drenched in my own sweat. I would be cruising down the roads of a warm state in an America that I have yet to see. But here I sit in these four walls, white as I dreamt about, but not free.

My nose is as long as the lies that were sold to me, and I then sold them to myself to get this far.

Who have I sold out if not my own self?

I did not come here for you. I do not want what is meant for you. I do not use to get one step ahead and yet my nose is the first thing you see when I open the door.

Let me cover up my misfortunes and put emphasis on my eyes in hopes you will see their brightness before all of my shortcomings.