I would say because I ran away. Guess I couldn't take it anymore. People can be so mean. Sure, a lot of them say great stuff, but if even one out of a thousand says one negative thing, I'm devastated.
Why? Why am I so sensitive? Why am I always examining my feelings? Why do I let someone else's opinion hurt me. Even people I don't know, respect, or even care about can get their words digging under my thin skin. Their anger, their opinions, their jokes, their smirks get stuck in my head like a virus corrupting the natural sweetness, unlocking some killer inside me and unleashing horrible fantasies of revenge that never take place at the scene of the crime, or affect the perpetrator, but leaves self inflected scars on me, the victim. This can't be attractive to you. This hurt puppy. This sad child. This broken man. This open wound. I open myself up to love, to really feel it and to let it flow, but flies get in and the larva grows and I feel the heart is rotting. Maybe I expose myself too much. I stand here naked hoping you'll find something in common, some connecting thread to bring us closer together in a world cold and cynical. I tell you things that are too personal. I want to be honest with you about what's going on in my head and in my heart. I want you to like me and dare I say it, love me. The diamond under pressure, I know, but all that stress and there still are flaws. The grain of sand that becomes an irritant produces the pearl, I know, but I'm drowning and can't hold my breath. The oak tree grows the strongest in the deepest shit, I know, but the tiny beetle bores away at it ceaselessly. It all drains me. I am weak, but I was strong once and want to be strong again, so strong no one can hurt me, yet I know my heart will only become callused again and the loving feelings I have will only be murmurs in dreams smothered under the wall of scar tissue built up to protect me. Somehow moving to larger and larger cities made it better because there seemed to be some safety in numbers. You could hide in a crowd. You could keep to yourself. Keep your head down. Sure there were more killers, freaks and thugs, but they distracted everyone away from my problems. There was always someone more worse off than me. The small town was always more dangerous to our kind. If anyone even attempted to point out how freakish, strange, creepy or weird I was, there was a million other people worse than me functioning in the big city. I could look to them circus freaks of the city, the broken, the forgotten, the ignored, the emos and the hurt for some sorta backup, some support, or I just learned to realized I was at home in the land of the misfit toys. So I continue to be hurt because I'm willing to be sensitive and in danger of bleeding to death to feel the warmth of love that flows from me, my love for the world, and most of all, my love for you.
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