not many people realize that
all the makeup isn’t just because i like colors;
i just like to hide myself.

i hate when the sentences in my stanzas
don’t line up perfectly,
and when they look like jagged mountains
(kind of like in this one.)

i don’t remember the last time i cried,
but i think it might have been yesterday.

sometimes i can feel my soul dying.

i can write more than i can say.

regarding my reaction to
the SA, the ED, and some possible polyamory,
i’ve decided i’m either making a big deal out of nothing,
or i need to be in inpatient.

and as much as i'd like to pretend otherwise,
i'm just a crazy little girl
who says too much about herself
in an attempt to find out
who she really is.

so.
who am i?