Every man is the same.

We like to pretend that we aren't. We chant that some of us are good. That some of us are protectors. That we provide and do what is right in the world. But I promise you, every man is the same.

When we get alone at night, we all have our vices. Some are worse than others, and mine might compete with some of the worst.

But what makes me better is the fact that I don't act.

As I walk the street at night and see a pretty, young girl on the other side, I don't cross it. I stay put, using my imagination to fill the void of what I cannot actually do. I think about the knife. The one I always keep in my pocket. How quickly I could drain her blood and watch her skin go pale. She would be dead so quickly. I doubt anyone would even know it was me who did it.

But I'm a virtuous man. I am better than other men. I know we all think the same. I know some have acted on it. But those who don't are just better.

Virtuous men like me have too much at stake. I have a family. A wife, a son, and two daughters. I sometimes wonder if I will ever dream about killing my daughters the same way I do other girls. Whenever they are grown, will I want to take the knife on the dinner table and watch them bleed?

But it doesn't matter. As long as I don't do it, I am better. It doesn't matter if I spend hours at the store counter, looking at the different types of blades. It doesn't matter if the thought of a girl's blood turns me on. It doesn't matter if I stay awake at night, wondering if the neighbors would be able to hear my wife's screams. None of this matters because I am a virtuous man, so I will never act.

And anyways, why would I even try to change when all men are the same?

And as the night grows old,

And the stars glisten bright,

And the moon shines bold,

I start to think they may have been right.

Because now I do not care about how my stomach hangs

Not under this night sky.

Or how I once had choppy bangs,

And thought I may die.

I do not care how I may look,

Not with my dull hair or stretch marks,

Because not everything has to be by the book.

At least, not when the sky is this dark.

Now I'm sure as the sun rises,

I will start comparing myself to others.

Slipping back to my old vices,

Because I have never been a self-lover.

But for eight hours every night

I do not have to cower.

Not until I see the light.

Until then, I won't nit-pick and devour.

So I sit under the moon,

Shivering and cold.

Hoping day does not come too soon,

And watching as the night gets old.

When you said "We're friends,"

It hurt me to smile.

I loved you.

I had for a while.

You didn't feel the same,

and so you started your adventurous lifestyle.

I tried not to be jealous,

It was a feeling so juvenile.

It helped that none of them lasted long.

A string of girls, none worthwhile.

But then someone new came along.

I liked her jeans and hairstyle.

A rapid friendship began,

One bound to last longer than the Nile.

But then you asked her number.

One you would surely dial.

I sat back and watched.

A scene so very vile.

Dates turned more frequent,

And you proposed like it was a need so dire.

As you exchanged your vows I wondered, could I ever make this love expire?

I didn't actually want to be like them.

I realized this at my sixth grade lunch table. I was friends with the stereotypical mean girls. The ones who would laugh when someone liked anime or didn't have name brand shoes.

I'm pretty sure they didn't even like me. I was chubby, not good at sports, and talked too loud. Every time they would have a sleepover the only one without an invitation was me. They would never include me in their activities. One time whenever we were hanging out we decided to do a fashion show. I was so excited to pretend to walk down a runway, but they told me I had to be a judge. "Models don't have your body type, and you'll probably stretch out our clothes anyways."

I went home and cried after that. My mom begged me to tell her what was wrong, but I never did.

After that I tried even harder to make them like me. I would eat less to try to be skinny, pretend to like sports, and never ever talk above a whisper. I started to slowly lose myself among all the expectations. Even though I was a shell of the girl I used to be, I was happy. Well, I thought I was happy.

That all changed on a chilly, crisp spring morning in sixth grade. We were all sat down for lunch. They did their usual spiel, making fun of me for how many goldfish I was eating and picking on me for my curly hair. It had made me upset, but that didn't matter. It was okay that they were making fun of me, but then a seventh grader walked by.

I was too naive to understand at the time, but those scars on his arms weren't from a cat. Apparently everyone but me knew this, because as soon as he walked by our table, of course one of the girls had to say something.

"Hey emo!" She called from a few feet away, "Wrist check!"

The guy looked stunned. He shook his head slowly before trying to walk away. The leader of our group, Mia, just couldn't have that. She stood up, pushing her way around our lunch table.

"I said wrist check." She grabbed on to his sleeve, trying to pull it up.

The boy put up a fight, but eventually Mia won. His sleeve was rolled up, and the scars were on display for everyone.

Tears started pouring down his face right away. He yanked his wrist from Mia's grasp, running to the nearest bathroom.

Mia smiled.

She actually smiled at this.

I didn't know what to do at that moment, but that was my tipping point. I didn't want to be like them. I never wanted to say another hurtful thing to someone just to get a laugh. I never wanted to make fun of somebody for something they can't control.

A flip switched in my mind. It was like the world became clearer. The purpose of everything suddenly switched, and I finally had true vision.

The next day it was safe to say I was eating lunch with somebody else.

If I had to choose between drowning in an ugly truth or living in a beautiful lie, I would pick the lie any day of my life.

I would rather go through my days thinking the world is sunshine and daisies, looking at pictures of puppies and kittens, and drinking an iced coffee than being wrapped up in a world of truths. A state of delusional bliss is better than a factual nightmare.

Lies are only lies if you know they aren't true. I can imagine myself laying on a beach, sipping my freezing cold lemonade while the world crashed down around me and I had no idea. The amount of stress I'd be saving myself by acting as if nothing is going on- that is priceless.

There is nothing more important in the world than yourself.

People come and go. One second they are there, the next they are gone. You don't have anyone forever. Well, you have one person, and that person is yourself.

You only get one life. One chance to make everything right. One life to enjoy. To laugh as much as possible. To smile so much by the time your fifty your face has deep lines set in around your mouth.

How can you enjoy life if you don't enjoy yourself?

Don't worry if that boy hasn't texted you back. Or if your favorite pair of jeans doesn't fit you anymore. Don't worry about being too loud in case you annoy someone, because at the end of the day, they don't matter.

You do.

Your mind is the only thing that can make you hate life. So instead of caring so much, let it all go, because nobody else is as important as you are.