"you can set yourself on fire but you're never gonna burn, burn, burn"

- panic at the disco

and i mean, 
this was never the way i was supposed to turn out
what i imagined growing up as. 

i'm scatterbrained and messy, 
hair that tangles easily around my ears
hands that can't stop moving

and cuts scored into less-than-forgiving flesh

but i'm trying not to think about that, 
with the way my eyes burn with too little sleep 
and i quake and shake, 
torn to pieces by no one other than myself

i wonder if anyone sees this in their future, 
the loom of beaten depression that still lurks at the edges, 
anxiety seeping in the edges
until i'm a cocktail of mental illness

some days i can't distinguish 
between self-care and selfishness

i don't think i've ever seen my skin and not hated it
not once
but at least i don't hate myself so much anymore
(there are things i tell myself
and i still can't decide if they're lies or not)

i want to stumble back, 
apologize, make excuses for being too clingy,
because i don't really seem to believe 
that my friends actually want to be around me

i'm not-
laura, me, they,
small and too big and too loud and too quiet, 
i'm not what i wish i was. 
i'm just me. 

so i guess i'll try to fit into myself, 
pour water and bright screens
into my hollow, concave chest cavity 
that fails to house anything useful. 

The End

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