My soul in the paper

My soul sits on paper
I wonder, sometimes, if this is a talent or a curse
Things pour out here
They have no other outlet
I don't belong
No one notices, no one cares
I don't want to ruin what I have
So scared to take a chance
Locked in a glass cage
I don't want to go back
This is my boat
And I'm so scared of getting out
All I want is friendship
It's just frustrating
I don't feel worth much to you
My soul is in tatters
Would you bother to look?
And if you did, would you
Tear this paper apart and burn my soul
Or hug me?
My soul lives on paper
Scrawled in blue or black blood.

I think we all feel like this at one time or another, I just write it down. This isn't really poetry, just words that mean something. I'm really tired of waiting; patience has never been my strong suit.

...but I like breathing...