Shut the door.
Another day to bore.
Blast off that music.
Sit simply, I don't want to mingle.
They want to talk about my changing physic.
I sing twinkle twinkle.
I don't want no person.
I want no one.
I want independence and freedom.
To do whatever is, according to me— fun.
Watch movies, binge series.
Make music, write poetry.
Who are you to me ?
When I was down, no one had me.
I don't like being lonely.
But being alone is homely.
Call it introversion.
Toxic superstition, depression.
Whatever bullshit and more humiliation.
I don't care.
I'm a little more girl on the inside.
It wasn't a dare.
I'm proud to be rare.
If being more humane,
More literal on pain,
More susceptible to feelings—
Makes me less relevant.
Silent and reclusive.
Less interesting and informative.
I'm me and in solitude there are things you'll never be able to comprehend or know.
This is an INFJ, a rarest among the common.
This is me.
Well, there's so much that you'll never know about me—