because

I am angry because:
people don’t take me seriously
—— and they say that I would look better with shorter hair
——-just because they like shorter hair.
And they stare at me with sympathy
when they tell me how sad it is that I don’t want kids,
but I hate children.                    (That doesn’t matter).
I can listen to the same song twenty times in a day
but I can’t keep reliving the same moments
—–because none of them are mine.
You still expect me to be okay with it all.
Because you want me to watch her dance
and look at her drawings and watch him be happy
but you didn’t even ask me to share my happiness.
(Which is writing by the way, just in case you never knew)
And because I can’t feel love anymore
—-(how do I show it?)
——–I don’t want love anymore.
I hate love.
Because the only thing I’ve learned about love
is that it is never for me.

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