I am a rock. Nothing more, nothing less.

To be or not to be, that is the question.

To be friendly or not have anyone to talk to. To be fake or to be myself. To be likable or to be honest.
No ultimatums, people will get angry. No humor, people won't like it. No pants, it doesn't look professional.

I don't understand. Nothing I do is enough. I am willing to sacrifice everything I am, everything I have attempted to build for myself, just because you asked me to. Always being taken advantage of. Always demolishing the inside. Always an empty shell.

People say I'm extraordinarily blunt and they love how harsh I am. If they only knew the inside was softer than a feather. If they only knew the network that travels through my body that conveys everything I sense; every smell, every look, every word. The details too fine to describe. The connections that relay everything. Everything is remembered. And I can't forget.

Too deep inside myself, and too small to make it alone. That's where my personality festers. The real one. The one that people don't like and scare it into a corner. The one people have tried to change too many times that it is nothing more than a blank stone face; paint on it all you want, but it's still a rock. Kick it and throw it at someone and skip it across the water, yet it's still a rock. Years and days and minutes it dissolves for other people. It breaks when thrown. It chips when dropped. After every encounter, a new pockmark is created. The next person to see it doesn't waste a moment of their time to contemplate its shape; they are more important after all.

Everyone else is more important. The rock says nothing, asks for nothing in return, yet it's constantly exhausted from everyone else. The rock has no feelings, so who cares? The rock says nothing, so what does it matter? The rock doesn't defend itself, so it's automatically stupid and doesn't matter. You can exploit it as much, and in as many ways as you please. It's just a rock. Nothing more. Useless.