People tell me I’m a good writer

Although I’m not sure what they mean

Because when I read over my work

I just see meaningless words on a screen

 

I’ve never been good with small talk

Words just don’t work for me

Even in conversations

I’m usually too nervous to speak

It’s not that I’m ignoring you

I just don’t know what to say

I have too many thoughts in my mind

And I don’t want them to come out the wrong way

 

I’ve never been good with guys

I don’t know why or how I get so many

I almost never make it past the first date

I’d rather stay at home with my tv

Sometimes people tell me I’m pretty

(emphasis on sometimes)

But what does that even mean?

Are we talking about society’s definition?

Or are they complimenting me out of sympathy?

All I know is that when I look in the mirror

I certainly don’t see what they see

 

Am I even making sense right now?

Probably not

All I ever seem to do

Is type thought

After thought

After thought

Every piece that I write

Is centered on my life

god

I’m such a narcissist

Nothing I do is ever right

I wish I knew what it was like

To have high self esteem

To be happy with my body

Maybe then I could eat

More than twice a week

And I wish I knew what it was like

To not ever worry

And I’m not talking about stress

I’m talking about anxiety

 

People tell me I’m a good writer

Although I’m not sure what they see

Because when I look back at my pieces

All I see is me