You need so much attention, it's ridiculous.
Those words pour out of mouths that come too close. Some say this with endearment, and others sigh while mumbling under their breath. Why? They ask. I just shrug in the moment because the entirety of my nature is far too complicated to elaborate over a text message, a can of beer, or in bed next to you.
The comfy leggings and a sweatshirt you saw me in the other day weren't just whatever happened to be lying on the floor when I rolled out of bed. It was something I agonized over the night before. It's been this way for as long as I can remember. Why? Well, I recall staring at a scale which read 35kg (77lbs) at the height of 5'0 and hearing the laughter of my family in the background -- maybe that has something to do with it. You might find it absurd, but when a thought has been ingrained in your mind since 7th grade, you just stop questioning it. To this day, all I see in the reflection of a mirror are the words "not good enough" burned into my skin. So I go for several days without holding a utensil, because maybe, just maybe, the emptiness in my stomach can fill the void left by an unrequited love. For some shallow compliment might temporarily pause the pain, the doubts, and the self-hatred.
Reflect in your eyes -- the ones you claim to be of a color they are not -- happiness. Caring for you soothes my pain. It is a distraction. Until the wave of your sadness buries me, that is. I care too much. I let other people's problems become my own. Call it what you want. Easily influenced or nice or gullible, but let me tell you, my intentions are entirely selfish. I crave the feeling of being needed. I ache for validation. So want me, as my heart needs a reason to keep beating. Give me a place in yours because too often I was displaced by those who supposedly cared.
The girl with one too many issues has been written, sung, and memorialized on screen before. So I rummage through Thought Catalog in search of clarity, a prose or a poem that will put an end to this chaos, only to find two hours passed and nothing new. You'll laugh about it in a few years. Oh, but I won't. Just as the words said eight years ago still make me cringe.