1, poem about presentation perception and intimacy

i get high off of being intricate and powerful, i glorify the incomprehensible, i destroy myself to have the allure of inhumanity, something entirely bound to myself, a treat to get a pet in your lap, a movement in the dark. i think i do this because if my humanity is invisible, if i wear a facade of complexity, the deeper colors of who i am become muddied. i feel like the caption next to a painting, a justification of why i'm such a disgusting shade, something when judged i can blame on my nuance not being understood, an passionate artist who judges her audience, 

but an artist with no visitors, no one reading the essays i keep in morning showers or 5th hour naps, the complexity i grieve being non-existent to everyone. just like the thing i imitate most, humans are unpredictable, complex, weird, intricate, muddied. i wish i could say there's something i'm missing, that others perfectly find a balance between being easy to swallow and new to taste, that i'm a failed, too disruptive to comprehend disaster. but i don't really know. i'm trying to be more genuine, yet not too strong, complex but not weird, loving but not cheesy, critical but not depressing, flawed but not disgusting, hurt but not destroyed, and there is still no one there. i let people put a few fingers on my shoulder, put a few words in my head, i gossip. no one knows a smidge of what happened during the worst week of my life. no one has seen how my face is disgustingly framed with unwashed, frizzy hair. no one knows i forget to brush my teeth twice a day. 

and i never know why. i've learned it's come down to chance, right places and right times. but i guess that's why, for so long, and even still today, i'm lost at which face to put on, on how to best (admittedly silently, without staring too long, no smiling) draw people close. how do i be clean but not boring, unique but not tasteless, open but not weird- and i still don't know the answer. 

most of the time when i get home, to a messy room of littered clothes (remains of possible outfits) and lay down on my bed, i can only think about how this is why i didn't speak to anyone that day. the self behind the cute necklace has a disgusting fucking room; and why am i lying here like this, i need to eat. but if you're going to eat something manufactured, don't even bother, it's horrible for you, no one wants to be around someone without a balanced diet, etcetera