They don't understand.

I want them to see me. I want them to see past the makeup, past the clothes, past the fake exterior I hold. They want to understand, the want to share the pain, but their angry, exasperated words add to the ever-expanding darkness I feel inside. I just want to be held, to be loved, to be understood. I want so much. I won’t get any of it. There isn’t enough time. They cut my wings so long ago, so there’s no use now even trying. I’m stuck here, isolated in an angry world, wanting to go somewhere my secret doesn’t make me feel like a freak. Where is that? I’d like to know. I want to go there.1

I want, I want, I want.2

The broken clock hand of my life is changing and peeling away with every second that they judge me. They can’t help. So why do they even pretend? They don’t know me, so why do they bother to pretend to care? They don’t expect me to talk, because this is something they’ rather forget about.3

If only... if only I could rewind time.4