Unlovable writer

 The Price of Becoming.
Why do still see nothing here?

That's why I almost laughed when you said:
You wanted someone to love you for you.

Where I'm from,
love always came with conditions.
Invisible contracts.
Outlined expectations.
You earned it or watched it disappear.

No one told me,
I could simply exist.
So I learned another language.
Journeyed the world alone.

Alone felt more real,
than conditional friends and family.

Achievement.
Performance who am I?
Seek applause, search spotlight.
Perfection no illusion as destructive.
Choreography that I criticize 

They dance imitating the fool I am!

A little desperate to grow,
A child.
Of becoming whatever earned another glance.

Hunger for recognition.
Why your attention feels
like water after years of drought.
Every compliment,
patches a sore but...
bleeding insists by morning.

I'm not more
than an empty shape,
Ghost on a yo-yo string,
rising with praise,
plunging with silence.

Mistaking encouragement
for good meaning.

You may hate me
because I seem impossible to love.

I was a child.

Some days I get that myself vibe.

Other days I'm just reflecting my style of ugly.