teenage angst has paid off well [a . h .]


8. little known facts

Here's some things you may not of known about me.

Uh, I feed off of positive energy.

I take fortune cookies seriously.

I speak incoherently.

I put too much hope, too much trust into human beings.

I always care about how a stranger is feeling.

I like to present myself certain ways, in hopes that no one will try to hurt me.

I often, everyday, feel myself grow lonely.

I'm not, in any shape or form, nice to look at.

I'm myself's worst critic, it's just a fact.

I have passion that I never get to rant about.

And too many dreams for me to even count.

I crave for compliments, mostly because it makes me feel like maybe I'm not awful.

Every morning I start myself off with a bowl of chocolate waffles.

Not a plate, no a bowl, and I'm not even sure why.

And I end my day with a nice, drained cry.

I laugh a lot at my own jokes, I laugh because of my anxiety.

I want to make more friends but I know I'm not able, and that's fine with me.

I always mistake a cold for my allergies.

And I rarely talk to anyone outside my family.

I can't sleep without a fan on, despite the weather.

And I wish I could pull off leather.

My hair is a dark blue that makes me really happy.

And I like to act like a gangster when I say, "Waz happening?"

I have a thing about eyes, that literally no one gets.

I feel I look into the orbs of a being and all it's secrets.

I love thrift stores, dollar stores, any place that's cheap.

And I can't sleep with socks on my feet.

I love melting crayons and writing about space.

And thinking about those fancy ice cream flavors I've never got to taste.

I like things that are transparent, things that are true.

And I adore when I get to try things that are new.

I like all genres of music and I love to sing.

But I'll stop when someone starts noticing.

The moment someone says they like classic rock, I want to be their friend.

And I have some cracks in my heart that still need to mend.

I try to pride myself on being different, but in the end I sort of hate it.

And Jesus Christ, some people make me so frustrated.

I don't care about who's having sex with who, or what drama is on the web.

If it doesn't involve me, my friends, or my family– I don't care what was said.

I love flannels, ripped jeans, oversized hoodies, and tie dye.

And I always think of middle school when I hear of Bill Nye the science guy.

I'm a lot cooler on the internet.

And to be honest, I love being stupid and saying, "yah bruh, get rekt"

My poetry is usually depressing.

I won't even lie.

But it's only because I keep a lot hidden on the inside.

And to here, I confide.

So yes, it's a pleasure.

To be the map, instead of the treasure.

To be a silent lecturer.

Of any given measure.

I think I'll end this here, if you don't mind.

I mean it's probably about time.

I hope you have a nice life, and learn to love yourself.

Then put your own story on a shelf.

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