I’m not nice.

I don’t feel nice.
People tell me I’m nice.
I do nice things.
I do things to make other people’s life easier.
I try my best to make sure I don’t burden them.
I help them in any way I could.
But that doesn’t make me nice.

People say I’m nice.
I say all the right things.
I do all the good things.
But that doesn’t make me nice.

I say the right things
Because I know that’s what they need to hear.
Because I know that if i were in their shoes,
I would want to hear that.

I don’t do the good things.
I do things that I think would benefit us all in the future.
But it has never been about doing something good.

People say I’m nice.
They say sometimes I’m too nice.
I don’t hurt people the way they hurt me
but why would I want someone to feel that pain?
To cry themselves to sleep the way I did?
Why would I want them to be in that state?
I don’t know what shit they’re currently going through.
So why should I add on to it?

I’m not nice. No.
I just don’t bother.
I don’t want to bother.

I’m not nice. I’m not.
If only you could hear the wrecked things inside my head.
If only you could hear the nonsense and the evil that lurks in the back of my mind.
All the bad thoughts.
All the bad intentions.
It has come to a point that I’m actually afraid of my own thoughts.
They can be so.. vile.
I think that’s why I don’t do the bad things.
I’m afraid of them
I’m afraid of what they might inflict.
I’m afraid of hurting my own self if I choose to hurt others.
Because I will hurt myself.
And why should I hurt myself?

I’m not nice.
I’m just afraid.

I write nonsense, really. None of it makes any sense
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