are you proud?

No matter how much I change myself to fit any shape of what I think I should be, I will find something else to hate about myself. I might prefer to surround myself with false narratives. I desire the people who desire someone else. I desire things but fail to make my desires come true. I love my mother and father but feel as if I am unworthy of their love. I am unworthy of anyone's love. I even fail to feel what a love might be like.

Most days I avoid mirrors as much as I can, I don’t feel like seeing myself—especially on Tuesdays. The sight of my knees will make me feel nauseous on a Friday. I avoid anything that will remind me of my own existence.

I am afraid I was born with hate.