When I was twelve, 

I hated myself. 

Not to mention

I didn’t get any attention. 
I was shoved in the basement, and flooded with emptiness and leftover conversations. 
At night, when I was drowning in darkness, I wasn’t afraid of the dark like I am today. 

The darkness was a way for me to hide everything I hated about myself, and I imagined I was dead. 
In the day, I was a shot kid laying outside a hospital. Waitin for somebody to notice my bullet holes. 

I washed away beneath the feet of my bystanders. 
I remember staring at my dry phone praying to the god I don’t believe in that somebody would text me. I needed to feel needs the way I needed somebody. 


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