Whatever fault you find in me,
in my isolationist tendencies–
remember that your version of nice
was being quick to disregard my sacrifice.
I am nothing more to you than a vague face,
a somewhat familiar name with no place
among you, and you wonder why
I am so quick to point out your disguise of lies.
So if you wonder why I hide away, seek solitude,
how I became so broken and bruised,
remember that at least I was as honest as I could be.
I never promised that I was problem free,
unlike your veneer of quickly being on the mend
when your list of sorrows has no end.