11/1

Tears are cakey. They're extreme. Maybe that's why nobody wants to see them. It feels like you're seeing somebody nude. Can I tell you what I love? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. How many times do I have to say that before it becomes true. Sometimes I want someone to save me. To uproot me from this Earth and bring me home. But what is home? Do I belong anywhere. The world says you do. But I don't. How does it feel to have roots that aren't recognized? To be shunned from every house because you don't have the same stripes. How does it feel. You and I, we're like rugs. Made for people to step on. But it's not all bad. You see, you get to experience people's lives. You get to listen in on their secrets. You get to be the surface where a shitty boyfriend cheats on his girlfriend. I want to be you. But that would be mean. That would mean uprooting you when you had roots to begin with. I wanna love you. I do. But that doesn't mean I don't want to hate you.