Ingredients of Me

I'm bitter because I've given away too much of myself to decaying souls.

I'm a writer because it's my way to escape this endless screaming film my thorn encrusted hands created.

I'm insane because I never bothered to break free of the misery losing you brought to the surface.

I'm stubborn because it makes up for not reinforcing my walls of comfort around this lost little girl.

I'm demanding because my hands shake when I'm powerless against someone else who manages to make you smile more than I did.

I'm depressed because there's no other way I can feel you around me.

I'm picky because it makes up for the lack of perfection within myself.

I'm spiteful because it makes me feel something other than nothing at all.

I'm intelligent because knowledge is my distraction from the loud noises of disappointment the world seems to like throwing at me.

I'm in love with him because I don't know why.

I'm sarcastic because my truth is too sharp of a knife for most people to handle.

I'm exhausted because I've been mounting cinder blocks of collected broken smiles just to see them dissolve into ashes.

I'm a poet because I know there's someone out there who's writing about you too.