And all the songs you played this morning were about people like me

And all the songs you played this morning were about people like me

Here's what you should know (you, yes, you).

I am flawed.  I am horribly, horribly flawed.  And I can't always deal with the flaws of others.  I am easily frustrated, easily silenced, easily persuaded, easily hurt, easily confused.  I strive for this paradise, this perfect world where my heart isn't getting constantly broken by people who are honest or fictional or cruel or boundlessly kind or judgmental or too too nice to me.  Sometimes I disagree with you for no reason besides a gut feeling, this gut feeling that's a mix of butterflies and too much chocolate milk before nine a.m.    

I am the van Gogh done in shaky hand.  I aim my camera into the sunlight and press the shutter and hope it all turns out okay.  I always feel pretentious and meek and hate myself for both.  I don't take teasing well and I don't take lying well either.  I'm afraid of permanence and transience and loss and gone-ness.

I don't want you here (here, yes, here) if you're judging or overthinking or or lying or rolling your eyes at me.  Some nights are good and on those I'm witty and wordy, and on bad nights I ramble and try on different roles and think about the noise a tree makes when it hits the ground of an empty forest.  But I'm me and I'm honest, and that's all I want and need, because I don't do this for you.  You, yes, you.  I don't do this for you.