This is me (Unfortunately)

I am kind, and bright. At least that is what I like and say.

I wonder about the stars. I have a crown made of one that shrouds my head in a glowing array. 

I hear a whistle, loud white noise, the sounds never stop or silences.

I see make-belief fights, and powers unlike any other. Imagination. They call it.

Living comfortably is now just a dream. A dream we cannot reach. A dream. A dream that is not real.

I pretend to sometimes be happy, one hug, and the walls crumble away. 

I touch something soft.

Yet I feel nothing, a void deep in my heart. Cracks spreading.

I worry that life will end too quickly, that the world will speed up and leave me behind.

I cry silently as arms wrap around me, holding me tight. 

I dream often, yet they drain away as I wake. Though sometimes I remember. And sometimes they come true. Not that anyone would believe. 

I try to make sense of everyone. But that's impossible. Everyone...thing..is different.

I understand that I am not the greatest.

Yet I hope I achieve something in life. Something my parents could never do for me. I will be...better than them. Or better off dead.

I am motherly. I have 3 online kids who call me mom. I cherish them. But I do not wish to have any of my own.

I wonder if this is all a dream. Sometimes it feels as though I am floating. My head filled with nothing but air.

I hear white noise, beyond the voices in my head. They scream. They whisper. They cry. 

Yet they have their own names. Nobody. Tisha. And Face-Less. Insecurity. Beauty. And Prosopagnosia. Lesser.

I see things that no one understand. Some say that's psychotic. Some say its schizophrenic.

But this is me. Unfortunately. 

I want to be better. But can I be?

I am me. Unfortunately. 

I pretend that everything is fine on a stormy day. But I wish the wind would scoop me up and fly me far. Alone is where I would be. 

Alone is how I would die. Free. Free from the horrors and responsibilities.

I feel nothing. Remember? A void in my chest.

Yet I touch soft hands. Why do they keep reaching for me?

I like the dark. It is freeing.

I sob as arms wrap around me in a hug. Because that may be the last hug I ever receive. 

Blinding white lights greet me. As do wails. 

A hospital. 

I am fragile. But some say that's good.

I understand that I might not get better.

Yet I say "I am fine" anyway.

I dream of many things. Things that happen. Things that will.

I try to be better.

I hope I put enough effort.

Yet I am a broken tool for the world to use.

This is me..Unfortunately.