Some sort of poem

Beautiful? Adorable? This flesh prison that I’ve come to hate, that’s attractive to you? My body can’t even work right; it sabotages me with pain and horrible feelings in my brain. Crooked spine, struggling organs, I want to get a new one please! I wasn’t built right. The numbers don’t make sense, I can’t focus even on the important things. Trouble understanding social queues, embarrassing myself in public. Is that a joke or are you serious? If you don’t explain things in detail to me I’ll struggle to perform. Why are you mad at me? I’m not intending to be rude, I’m asking you for clarification. Too sensitive; criticism feels like a punch to the gut. What’s the point? I take more pills to stay alive. Watching people my own age thrive while I cower in my room. My body makes me feel like a monster that is trying to replicate being a human. It’s not very good at it.