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.