While you may find it excessive,
my wardrobe's full to the brim with pretty pink dresses,
and further to the back,
are the skeletons hanging on frail racks.
Leave them be,
you don't need to see.

Last night a had a dream,
Sweet flavors,
Blueberry and vanilla ice cream.

You were there, I could see;
we smiled.
But I woke up,
Just like in real life,
It wasn't meant to be.

"I'm fine!"
A lie, but yet again you read between the lines.
Yet, you're angry, and we argue;
Our relationship now askew.

I'm wretched, I utter.
My only purpose is to clutter
your life while I suffer
this self-imposed inferiority complex;
my heart's nothing but an object
to you.

I'm horrible, I say.
Your face, a pale grey,
We're both in dismay,
I'm not horrible, you proclaim.
How do I say,
It's you who makes me feel this way?