Empty tins make the loudest noise,so empty shells echo sounds of places far away

For me, the furthest is somewhere where I am happy

I suppose that’s what depression does

It gets so loud, it drowns out the sound of your voice

Six years in and I’m still not pretty enough

I’m not smart enough

I’m not anything even worth a mother’s love

Relationships were more transactional in nature,

taking more of me than I was left with

but how could any love me, when my mother couldn’t 

I’m stitching back pieces of me but still seek validation and wish to be a pleaser,

wether as a friend or a lover

Struggling with being alone, 

I measure my worth by who im dating

Who wants me

How many people need me

but who needs an empty shell

ever only good for carrying their secrets or burdens

Just a mere decoration