I hate myself.
          I catch a glimpse in a
                      shop window
              or a passing car.
          And I draw back scolded.
          My tears spit like
                          hot fat
          Because I can no longer
                  disregard
                      I'm a pathetic punchline
                          no-one has the courtesy
                              to laugh at.
          Scared. Isolated. Unsure.
          Scarred heart.
          Icy receptions.
          Unneeded.
          At first I wonder, why?
          Then my self-image shatters
                  my hopes.
          I hate myself.

          There's nothing wrong,
          He's just "Will".

          I wish skin could reflect a person,
          then you could read people.

          I wish I didn't do this, hadn't said that.
          I regret, and if I did it again I'd regret.

          I have so much regret stored up,
                  I regret
                      in anticipation
                          the things I haven't yet done.

          I wish I was a better person,
          because "being yourself"
          isn't what I want.

          Myself will never be good enough,
              funny enough
                  honest enough
              unique enough
                  good-looking enough
              humble enough
                  rich enough
              loud enough
                  quiet enough
                      to compete with the masses of people outside.

          I regret being old and alone
                          already.
           

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