I am poor. Economically, emotionally, spiritually. Poor. Can't grow nothing but this tangled thorns. Omg, I can't believe that I exist on borrowed time, no less. Excuse me if I make a mess, I've always tried my best. But I can't tolerate myself, the reason I can't stand still: don't want to meet nobody that speaks like me moves like me thinks like me. Forgive me. I am poor.