My smile is weak, and I hate it. I hate this the urge to fit in when I don’t really want to. I want to be unapologetically me, and what I wouldn’t give for people to love those parts. More than that, I want to believe they do. I’m tired of the doubt, of tucking pieces of myself away in hopes that someone might take me in. No matter how much I starve it, the fear grows like weeds. I’m a tangled web of uncertainties and insecurities, and I don’t recognize myself.
