So, The Wretched Answered:

I always thought I was a mess. You made me feel like one, anyway. I always thought I was wrong. I always thought I was the one to blame. The one who just wasn’t quiet right. The one who wouldn’t grow up to be that perfect little girl who fits your little mold, and stands as the epitome of your idea of civility.  I was always the joke, right? The one you could easily point and laugh at. Because, my lack of skill in your area of expertise somehow gives you the right to throw me down and allow me to blend and rot with the walls, as if I even belong, right? As if it’s okay to take me by my wings and shoot me to kingdom come, right?

 But, how do you please an individual who sees nothing in you? Nothing but a wretched black hole waiting to be filled with every mess you could put your hands on, and OH how you loved to fill that black hole with mess. AS IF, that black hole swallowed that weight.

When, instead, it carried that weight on its surface and concealed it with a mask, just so the Adequate wouldn’t look at think there is more to the wrongness of the Wrong.

Because I am the black hole, anyway right? What black hole’s weak anyway right? I make a pretty bad black hole. But at least, at least I am one.

So laugh all you like, and I’ll pretend to take it in. It’s all right. Because, tonight when you’re quiet—I hope your dreams are bringing you light and fantastic things!—and when you’re asleep, I’ll be sitting here, taking in your weight, and slowly falling apart because your unneeded baggage is too heavy, and I was never made to carry it.

And, you know what? Be blessed I’m no rebounder. The ones, who would shoot back the pain, like it’s okay to drop down to a level that is a hundred thousand feet below.

So you know what I’m going to do? This time, this time, I’m going to take your baggage and I’m going to laugh at it. Then, I’m going to throw it down, A HUNDRED THOUSAND FEET BELOW me.

To you.