pity party

i’ve always favored my peers; never have been in the shoes of the favorited 

i hold everybody so close to me, maybe too close

i want to know what it’s like so bad to be someone’s favorite friend. 

even better, i want to know what it’s like to be loved purely. stretch my soul open and have a gaze. i am so beautiful but it’s the least interesting thing about me. 

i’m so surrounded and alone

nothing about my words are poetic, it’s shit.

a writer doesn’t like their pieces.

a writer critiques and suffers both unequivocally and simultaneously.