I am.

I am not really what they said I am, you said. And I kind of admired your confession. My arms twitched the whole time and I couldn't wait to be home. And alone. And I felt like there was some kind of comfort in that sweet understanding... Something about both of us not belonging-- you because you were not what they pegged you in this world obsessed with labels that don't fit, too big and too small... Me because I fit too much, with the stumbling through scenes full of a lack of boundaries and forced labels.

And I really just wanted to be alone... And I could sense you might too, in some corner of some nook of your mind. But who am I to know.... I always want to be alone. Which is why I broke her heart and now she breaks mine in return-- because she hates what I did and do she hates me and herself.... And we all take it out on ourselves in one way or another.... Knife or needle or pipe or plague. It's all the same in the end-

I am not what they say,..

I am.