dear f***ing world

dear fucking world,

i have some things to tell you. i got a journal of things i’ll never say aloud.

dear fucking world, here are the thoughts i have that are more tangled than my earbuds.

sometimes i am just so done.

sometimes i just want someone i can talk to. someone who can just face me, our knees touching, and listen to all my thoughts i keep bottled inside me pour out. who won’t interrupt me. who won’t judge me. who’ll hug me if they know i need it.

sometimes i just want to hug someone for what will seem like forever, holding the hug like i’m holding onto my dreams and childhood.

sometimes i just, not hate, but not really like myself. sometimes i just hate all the hours i waste while i could be, i don’t know, changing the world.

sometimes i look at my knotted hair, my eyes that aren’t framed with long, thick, curled lashes, my flat nose, my cracked lips, and my round face. i look at my hands, chipped nails and the hangnails that have been picked at whenever i’m stressed. and i wonder why i look like such a mess.

sometimes i wish for people to know that no matter how happy i look on the outside, it’s just a facade.

sometimes i wonder why my life’s so boring.

sometimes i think i might never achieve anything extraordinary in my life.

sometimes i wish to be someone i’m not.

sometimes i wish the world could just end.

sometimes i want to just scream at the top of my lungs and let all my anger out.

sometimes i hate myself for eating so much and exercising so little.

sometimes i look in the mirror, and i ask myself, “why am i such a fucking mess.”

sometimes i cry myself to sleep.

sometimes i cover myself in my blankets and wish that the world was just that small, just me and my bed.

sometimes i look at the people around me and wonder why they look so put together. even though everyone’s a mess in some way or the other.

sometimes i just wanna say, “fuck this. fuck all of it. i’m so fucking done.”

sometimes i pretend everything’s alright, and i am in bliss.

sometimes.

dear fucking world,

i can’t change the way i look.

dear fucking world,

i can’t be who you want me to be.

dear fucking world,

i can’t change who i am.

but dear fucking world,

i want you to know.

all of these thoughts? they’re true. they’re painful, real, thoughts i have.

but dear fucking world,

i want you to know something.

i still love myself. i do. i really do.

so dear fucking world,

there you go. i’ve said it. my thoughts, my pain, my hurting, my insecurities.

i hope you’re happy, too.

sincerely,

___________

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