Missing Pieces

I like how when I click to open my Tumblr, it says "Open Missing Pieces."

Like it's all up to me and I am just not trying hard enough. It's nice knowing that I have the power to know myself. To count how many breaths I want to take and take one less just to prove my control. 

You know all the wisdom quotes about knowing yourself being the greatest power? Fuck, it is. It bothers me at times that I can't control the amount of blood that flows through my veins. I can't get up and decide, I feel like 4 pints today. I am less giving, I need my existence to scream the fact.

Do you remember the stupid status thing going around on Facebook a while back? The tbh one? I used to like those statuses. People always told me that I was sweet, nice, kind, etc. And I used to read those and think, how sad is it that so many people know of me but not me. Because I am anything but. I have always been anything but those things. I am filled with bitterness so extreme that sometimes my thoughts shock my core. I live on this awful principle that the world has been unfair to me. I lost my parents fairly young. People keep telling me I have put up with that fairly well. What they don't know is the hate inside me. 

In eleventh grade, my English teacher told me my writing was very raw. It's one of the many reasons I have a lot of respect for her. She hadn't known me for more than a week then. She had just read an essay I wrote. An essay that was sort of fiction. And she had summed up my entire personality in one word based on that. 

I am raw. So raw that if you were to slide your palm over my heart, you'd find thorns of a cactus fluffy. I'm the kind of raw that makes your throat bid your entire life for one drop of water. And when you get that drop? It feels like you're walking on broken glass. It hurts too damned much. 

I am missing way too many pieces of my soul. The reason I would be kind to you is not because it's the right thing to do. It's not because I want a heaven. And it's not because of some sense of morality. I am kind to you because I can't afford you looking at my missing pieces. So if I am nice to you, know this well, I am superficial to you. Because believe me when I say, I am a monster.