I look at myself and ask, “am I ok?”
I look at him and plead, “don’t leave me. don’t hate me.”
My therapist is amazing, words can’t describe her.
She’s the type of parent I wish I had.
I love her more than I love my ego.
I look at myself and ask, “am I crazy?”
I look at the messages from boys that only want to fuck me and ask,
“When?”
I know I’ll be happy one day,
I hope I’ll be happy one day.
My exterior is cracking more and more everyday.
I wonder if I’m becoming the form of myself that I always idealized.
I look at the person in the mirror and ask, “What is wrong with you?”
She looks back at me and says, “I don’t want to die, don’t hurt me.”
“No, I don’t want to die.”
I don’t want to die either.
The Paramour 