what it feels like to be made of envy
i wrote 3 poems today. they were bad, and damn near unintelligible, but i posted it anyway. why? for attention, maybe. or a misguided cry to the outside world--a cry for someone to come and make me feel okay again. make me feel like me again. and i guess, that's the root of the problem, isn't it? i don't feel like me. haven't felt like me in quite a while. i'm a kind person. an easygoing person. a forgiving person. someone who brushes off things that don't matter. someone who only lets herself dwell on insecurities for so long. not someone easily offended, not someone who's tired all the time--someone who feels the need to just... be useful . stop being a burden. - well, that last part's not true. i am that person. the one who always feels like a burden, so tries twice as hard to be needed. but the thing is, i thought i was getting better. i thought... i thought finally i'm my own person. or... becoming one anyway. one pers