— a flightless bird, with missing feathers, and no pretty plumage, they still like me.

They don’t view me as unimportant people did.
They don’t view me like those viewing sideshow, with their laughing a jeering.

They view me as me.
And that’s all I could ever ask for.
That’s all most people could.

— that are generally unattractive or disliked by the majority, but are loved and cared for by those who matter.
The people who know about them, care about them.

And those people are why I’m still here.
The people that care, my friends, my family, my partner.
They care about me.
Even though I’m —

— ferocity I have now.

But that inner fire hadn’t yet sparked at that age.
I was just a fragile baby bird, back then.
I didn’t have a confrontational bone in my body.
I would just cry and cry and cry.

But baby birds grow up.
I like to think that I grew up to be a vulture or a pigeon.
Birds —

🫂

🫂

I’m here for you, my honey. 🫂

I’m don’t talking to them about serious topics.
I’ll simply stand up and leave the conversation.

I have to keep that little bit of peace I have, in knowing that I care.
Even if it’s too much.

I say that these things can really help people, but they don’t care, unless it affects them.

I can’t think that way.
I was born with so much empathy, that it overflows.
I care too damn much, in a world that doesn’t care at all.
And then I get mocked, laughed at, shamed.

So, I’m done.

So, when I bring up things like how people should get mental health days, on top of sick days and they reply with, “Maybe no one should work than”, sarcastically, it makes me upset!

And it’s not just that!
Any time I make suggestions to large problems, they immediately shoot them down.

Once I got it off my chest, I felt lighter and I set some strict boundaries.
I told her that I didn’t want to talk about politics anymore.
That if it’s brought up, I will leave to my room, or leave the house, because it’s not fair for me.

They know how passionate, empathetic, and caring I am.