Everything hurts.
How much it anger you when someone, can indeed, sum you up in a nutshell.
How everyone hides behind a combination of lies, and themselves.
When people try and look you in the eye, again and again, not realizing that all you can give them is your presence, not the ‘self’ you haven’t quite figured out yet.
You’ve let yourself become an entry in this dictionary, defined purely by perception.
How your best friend’s mother hates herself too much to love the air in her lungs.
How you’re always in the wrong timezone.
How you can’t figure out the order of your steps.
How many miles there are left.
How much fuel there is to burn.
How much glass there is left to break.
How everyone around you is too scared to check the time.
How you’re easy to define but so damn hard to predict.
How it took you so long to understand that your hands are your own.
How it took you so long to realize that you have eyes.
How much you hate the dirt under your nails and itch to wash everything away as soon as possible.
How you can never locate the keys to your front door in time.
How irony and sarcasm take over you because there’s no other way to explain the repetition.
How you wake up, over and over again but never feel awake.
How you orbit yourself, too scared to ever get too close to the center.
How you trip up on the wires you have tightened too much.
How much you lack satisfaction and how much is expected of you.
How what you see in the mirror is still just an inverted and shallow reflection.
How much there is to learn.
How many years there are to grow.
How many lives there are to uncover.
How many shows there are left to visit.
How many tries you have left.
How much there IS.
How many identities there are to distort.
How many futures there are.
How many directions there are in which you can bend.
How many angles there are at which the world can tilt.
How much emptiness you want your body to fill.
How many clothes you want to fit into.
How many drawers to open.
How much skin there is to lose.
How many fingers you want to get to know.
How many colors you want to paint with.
How many crumbling mountains there are to cling to.
How much water there is to float in.
How wide you want your world to stretch, despite how easy this makes it to tear.
How many words you have yet to share.
How many rights left to wrong.
How many decisions left to make.
How many shadows you want to leave.
How little confidence you have in the texture of your voice.
How little you really know.
How little you really care.
How much you really care.