I don't know anything.

In here in here. It's like here in here. Here, here. Here, hear here here. So I hear. Crambed with crumbs, jangly indentical emotions, junked up with something heard again and again in here. Here, another self I'd like to recognize. And who am I? Perhaps I am that self you see inside, the one who hurts and dreams and forgets to show you her true face, her one constant. One constant? What is that? That oh my god, did she just say that? Work before play, then work and work and take her self too seriously. Self had better calm down before disapproval sets in into all those other selves secretly being judged. By whom? It's a secret, because there is no I. It isn't me, I'm a 'spiritual person'. Only love, right? Only love when love is only love but what about the rest of the time? The time when, where, were you when I needed a friend? Where was I when intimate realms dared to be explored? Do I know myself? Do I dare? Exploring to explode, popping all over this pie hole, recognized by you, who? And seen by who? Who? Who? Who? Where am I? What is this? Meaning-less, and the hurtful way you absorb my presence without acknowledging it. Do I do that? Did I do that? Did I do that? Here. In here is where this takes place. In here, around here hurtful tones bounce back and forth and words are said through me that might feed your daddy issues and my mommy issues but certainly don't see the difference between you and me. We try to struggle. To stay here, see here, why is it one day isn't this one. And this one is different as well. I hear-ed I hurt and I don't know why. Why do you treat me this way? Why I? I don't know.