Here

I guess I'm the one who moans about my problems. 

But only through the binary coding of the keyboard ABCs.

I rant and ramble about boys who won't love me and the way I look when I bleed from loneliness.

I write detailed evaluations of the boys who fuck me.

Then leave me. 

I've talked about the feeling of my heart in bloom. 

The springtime bursts of love that fill me up. 

Then the chills of winter that leave my garden dead once more.

I come across as a needy child.

But I guess that's all I am.