each moment contains its own complicated theory. i don't trust my own mind, my own perspective. so i assume the perspective of another. decide on what their thinking. because i don't feel i know enough myself. i feel naive. and stupid. and uninteresting. boring. and wrong. thats the most important one- i feel wrong. like my step isn't on beat and my voice is a little flat and the room is a little too hot and my zits are protruding and there's dirt under my nails. so i climb into another skin and see out their perfectly round, greenish-brownish eyeballs and make it up as i go.
its my own little show inside my own little head.
and its all wrong.

everything seems to be about the number on the scale. how much weight i am. how heavy. i never quite understood those people that pushed for so much room, who just make so much room for themselves and complain when they don't get it. i crawl into a little ball and try to take up the least amount of space possible. try to plop myself into a corner of space, an inch, and hope nobody gets annoyed with my presence. but some just think they deserve space for being alive. you do not deserve space. your over-sized body is not the equivalent of respect. i scorn on your extra room you feel you deserve. stop asking, and try to answer.

who are we? we've escaped. i used to have all these feelings and now, I don't. and so what are you? i don't know why i keep trying to make you so important. i dont understand myself. but now that you're not, i just don't know what to do. when i decide something, i mean it.
and i hate that i have to tell you things about me.
you should just know.
and its not because you're a guy or whatever or that people can't "read my mind" because i have met people who just know things about me. who know how i act. who love it. and i should be making them important.
but the thing is, they already are.
so thats why i'm so focused on you.
or maybe, for some reason larger than both of us.
or maybe.