>when this was written, i was working with some intense anger issues, as can be noted in the language used. i'm in a better place now. still angry, just in a better place.
I know so much more than you will ever know. (You don't know shit about me)
You don't know how I feel while I lie in bed alone.
You don't know that I pour a cup of coffee in the morning and let it sit until it is completely cold, only to get mad and heat it up again.
You don't know the feeling I get when making dinner for eleven people when I never cook for myself.
You don't know that I grow my fingernails just to scratch at my scalp when I haven't showered.
You don't know that when I drink alcohol, I first feel it in my ass.
You don't know the emotions I am filled with when I step out of the door to come home from work.
You don't know how much I like the feeling of that green shit you put flowers into.
You don't know how completely drained I get when a client screams at me.
You don't know how often I close the med room door so I can cry.
You don't know that I eat peanut butter at work to stop myself from cussing.
You don't know how fucking awful I am at talking someone out of suicide.
You don't know how much of myself I see in the ladies at work.
You don't know how many times I spin my rings around every day.
You don't know how much I like Meg from the White Stripes.
You don't know how many times I have nearly vomitted at work.
You don't know the beauty I see in obsession.
You don't know how the past has changed me.
You don't know how useless I feel after having a med error.
You don't know how often I think about my mistakes.
You don't know the utter glory I feel when I see the effects of teaching someone a life-skill.
You don't know how loud I can scream.
You don't know how long I will sit in front of a phone before calling someone who isn't expecting it.
You don't know how still I sit while watching challenge shows on mtv.
You don't know the extent to which I am uncomfortable about watermelon with seeds.
You don't know how much of me dies when I have been shut out.
You don't know how much I wish I hated my thighs so I could gain pity.
You don't know how much I want to sit in the audience at the Oscar's or Emmy's.
You don't know how much I love the taste of a perfectly ripe plum.
You don't know the intensity with which I live for work.
You don't know how terrified I am of aggressive women.
You don't know how much I could learn from you.
You don't know my passion.
You don't know that despite my self-love, I still feel I would need to lose weight for someone to truly fall in love with me.
You don't know how much I crave my loved ones to spend time making me presents.
You don't know what it does to me when you don't hug me.
You don't know how my body still reacts to my mistakes.
You don't know that I can make a killer meatloaf, and I myself will never eat it.
You don't know how much I want to dance.
You don't know my motivation for nudity.
You don't know who I think about just before I fall asleep.
You don't know how it tears me apart that the one person I want to comment on photos never does.
You don't know what happens to my soul when I talk to my crush.
You don't know the happiness I get from making lists.
Don't pretend to know.
