I am made entirely of flaws,

Stitched together by good intentions.

“Different”, I am and always was.

I come across as an abrupt ball of tension.

I struggle to speak when eyes are on me,

And it all started before I was three.

I have only ever meant well,

Though selfish I may seem.

I lived in my own personal hell,

More of a nightmare than a dream.

I want to scream until I collapse.

Or run off into the forest, perhaps.

I’ll run until I can’t breathe anymore,

My knees tearing at the seams,

While my good intentions pour over the floor.

The silence deafening over my empty screams.

I’ve always tried so hard,

With my sanity in complete disregard.