There's something wrong with me.

Am I wrong for thinking that I deserve recognition? Am I wrong for hating you whenever you steal something from me and call it yours? Is it wrong that I want to be praised, just for a short second, for an insignificant amount of time? Tell me, how do you feel knowing that you are copying whatever I dream about and telling everyone that it was your twisted mind that created it?

Oh, but you don't care. You smile and you complain about insignificant things, screaming to the world that you are worthless, whispering to a stranger that you hate yourself. You have no reason, trust me. You do not know how it is to lay awake and to ponder whether someone truly cares about your existence. You have been truly loved, I am unsure whether someone has ever noticed me. I exist when you need something, when you remember that I need to be told that yes, I do have a purpose. And you rarely remember.

But I am still here, hating and loving you all the same. There's something wrong with me, I am sure. But what? Tell me, can I be fixed? Can I be whole again? Will I ever be perfectly sure about my place in this universe? Will I ever feel worthy or important?

Tell me, tell me that I am better than this, that it is just a phase and this too shall pass! Tell me that I am the best, that there's no other like me! Lie to me if you have to, but tell me what I need to hear.

Because I will, someday, fall apart.