I have a story to tell
But the words don’t sound right in my head
When I think about the story though
Scenes fly by
deep conversations take place
Exploring complex existential ideas
Figuring out who I am through my writing
But there I’m vulnerable
So I tell myself it doesn’t look right
Save myself the pain of finding out who I really am
Of sharing myself with the world
And being rejected by just one person
Because I try my hardest to be liked
Work my personality to the bone
And when people ask me why
I say because I want to be accepted. No. I want to be loved
But I never feel like I’ll get there
So I write those feelings in short little stories
But tell myself they don’t look right
And throw them away
Little parts of myself, discarded like the **** I feel like