the truth is
i realize every day
a new flaw within me
and i come to terms
with the unorthodox soul i have—
the one that people avoid,
the one that feels too much,
the one that defends itself harshly
because it's been stabbed
one too many times.
and i question the stares,
the avoidance,
but it's always clearer
with every recognition
that i am just not meant to be liked—
but secluded—
away from those i can taint
with my unorthodoxy.

—why don't people like me?