Don't call me beautiful.
This isn't some over the counter form of self-deprecation. It's truth in a full-informed prescription. Maybe you've figured this out by now and I'm wasting my words telling you, but darling, I'm an acidic mess and I promise I'll burn holes through your best intentions. Read this as the label marked "warning." Or maybe I'm a battlefield and honestly, blow by blow, you're killing me. But usually, I'm simply a one-way road that dead-ends at your doorstep and I'm crashing into you.
I swear we do the worst things to each other in the worst and most nonsensical ways.
Don't pretend I'm clever.
I'm just recycled words from recycled thoughts from recycled people. Not one piece of me is remotely original. The sad truth is I'm more horrible than I seem. I'm a wildly mismatched collection of sad songs on scratched cds, half-read books and unraveling cardigans all accumulating in a giant mess meant to impress the next person and then the next. Until I realize that I just sp