Damaged Goods

I'm damaged. I constantly talk to myself to drown out all the other voices that keep reminding me how my life should go and what I should do.

I'm damaged. I've given my heart to so many, there's barely enough to keep me going. Whoever said to have loved and lost is better than not to love at all was full of crap. I've got nothing to show for it except scars and a jaded outlook of love.

I'm damaged. I'm working so I could support my medical needs and scavenge what's left of my social life. If I saw this coming, I would've gone Ghandi and starve my ass to death.

I'm damaged. I constantly pray to God that He reveal my purpose on this earth so I could finish it and go back to heaven. The silence is louder than the voices in my head. I would've been more comfortable if He said I were to lead a flock of idiots and drown them in the red sea.

I'm damaged. I keep falling for women who are emotionally unavailable. They're too scared to move on despite the fact that they're generally ignored and treated like an ornament or a trophy. Complacency should be a sin.

I'm damaged. I give out good advices to other people yet I don't have answers to my own problems. The whole "wounded healer" role doesn't really help me at all. Every time I console someone, they take a piece of me. Their tears have left me dilapidated like a used tissue paper. I feel like I've carried their burden and my soul mourns for their pain. When they've moved on, I'm left bearing their chains.

I'm damaged. I've stopped celebrating my birthdays because nothing good ever happens. Every time I ask someone special to go with me, I always get stood up or canceled. It's not that I didn't expect it, I just hate the fact that I keep on hoping that it'll be different this time. Maybe I was meant to be alone. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe people just don't give a shit.

I'm damaged. I feel great envy when I look at babies. They've got no worries and they suck up all the love from the people around them. They sleep so soundly because they know they're loved. I'd give anything to feel their bliss.

I'm irreparably damaged. I feel pity for myself but I'm too proud to cry, too stubborn to change and too tired to care. I'm always gonna be picked last, sometimes I don't get picked at all and most of the times I'm not even on the list. Good guys finish last, huh? If that's the way it is, I'm not gonna run at all. Just tell me when its over so I can shake hands with the asshole that finished first. You probably picked that asshole. He's probably your boyfriend. I wouldn't be surprised.