More Stolen Words

i am a little flower
i am sitting in a vintage camisole and crumpled yellow pajama pants, i brushed my hair, and washed my face and brushed and flossed my teeth, i look either very young or very old, i never can tell. my stomach protrudes here and there under the clingy fabric of my camisole. i am waiting for the percocets i took to fill in my voids.
i wonder if my fate rests on my flaws, i have so many, my hysterias and my many physical let downs, my skin, my hair, my stomach, i see blemishes and veins and scars, and i wonder if i'm as grotesque as i think i am. i see so many dissatisfactions but then, i'm always looking for them. if i was pretty i wouldn't be happy, i know that, at least, but if i was happy would i be attractive? i want to believe i want to be alone. but i don't tonight, i'm in a terrible state. and i want to know what it is that breaks through indifference, i want to know what it takes to be cared about.
have i committed too many crimes to be loved? i seem to believe it, it might be a self-actualizing delusion on my part. i don't have pity about this, i don't have pity for me, because it is true that in my life i have been very undeserving of solace, i have pushed it away and denied it to others. i haven't been receptive to anything except that which feeds my miserable concept of this world.
i have a small hope though, that if i had a chance, that it would change my concept irrevocably. i know i have something positive in me, that i could share. sigh, if i wasn't so difficult. i so wish i hadn't been so wrong about everything.
i'm just a girl, i'm just a dumb girl and i need to be tucked in and read to and talked to sweetly, and i'd be so good, i really would. i'm just simple and i want to be good, you wouldn't believe it.