Actually I hate myself.
My body is somewhat of a trap.
I've lived my entire life believing that there's something more to me than meets the eye.
That I'm good.
If you get to know me or if you know the me I want you to know, you'll love me.
But, I've come to the entire realization that if my theory isn't true, then my entire life is a lie.
At least other people are honest with themselves.
At least other people have talents, passions, or visions.
But, who am I?
I've put my identity into unreliable vices.
Who I am rests with the unchanging currents titled grades, or performance, or something close to that.
Who I am comes and goes with what I do or how I act that day.
Insecurity is an ugly thing; it makes you hate people you don't even know.
And guess what?
It's taken over me.
I've never been completely honest with myself, but I hate who I am.
I think I'm ugly, shallow and that I'll never amount to much.
I just want to scream right now.
I want to run away.
But, no matter how fast or far you run, you'll never outrun yourself.
And I have to outrun myself.
Because I hate who I am.