fearing and pain

How can I express my deep pain in the most beautiful way so that it's okay? So that you don't roll your eyes or feel profound pity. What metaphor can I find to make you feel what I feel in an ethereal way? Does my questioning bore you? Are the stakes insignificant to you? Do you find it selfish that I would put my life onto you in such a way? You didn't consent to my pain. What can I expect you to do? What are you capable of doing? It might be counterproductive for you to consider these questions. Well, it depends on my hope and potential, maybe. If I am hopeless, then there is no reason for you to be reading this. It's been two years. I'm still stuck. I look around at the others. So beautiful, so smart, so full of hope and potential. Others have given up hope, resigned to base instinct and desire. I feel that I am at this crossroads. I am a puzzle piece that doesn't fit with the rest. I've lived on the expectation that I'll become the person I always imagined myself to be. But how long and far have I lived from reality? Is it okay that I am still so silent and soft-spoken, briefly speaking my mind? Or is my unwillingness to speak to do with my fear of reality? Reality, which divorced me when I was a young boy. Reality, I've always been yearning to find my place. How much of what I say can even be taken seriously? Even when I express my pain, what if the expression and pain are unrelated? Questions like that seem to say everything I need to. Perfectly expressing my paradoxes. Yet, I need to show insight into moving past this. To growing beyond it. I can only do that by coexisting with you and reality. I'm afraid you'll reject me. You'll prove me right. I'm afraid by admitting that, you'll be willing to accept me, until my honest flaws disillusion you. I'm afraid this is all a bid for a type of acceptance that I can't accept. And these words become meaningless, and I can't see anything else to say, no other means of expression. And I spontaneously combust. And I'm afraid you won't understand me. Or I fear you'll be afraid of me. Or I fear you'll be afraid to fear me. You'll feel compelled to reach out and be kind, and I accept your kindness and I pursue it. But you won't tell me that I'm lame, ugly, unfunny, narcissistic, stupid. In dishonesty, you'll push me away. I'm afraid you'd be right, and I wouldn't accept that honesty, anyway. I'm afraid I'll push you away because I don't trust your kindness. How can you not be drawn to the simplicity of physical connection? How does it not enrapture you, intelligent beauties? How do you mend this? I feel like I have broken filters. And I try, I do. But I'm so afraid that I'll misunderstand and hurt someone. I'm afraid I'm unable to love and be loved.