Bleached out hair and sunken-in eyes.
Bracing for yet another goodbye.

Being promised not to be used
yet you'd rather be abused.

Dreaming of one day wearing a white dress-
knowing the reality of your life being a mess.

Turning twenty-one is not that fun
when all you want is to be one with your daddy tying your hair in a bun.

Memories that don't seem real -
the only tangible things that make you feel.

Full face of makeup and dressed to the nines -
the only thing I can control and call mine.

A soft kiss-
something I'll let myself miss.

Bleached out hair and sunken-in eyes,
bracing for yet another goodbye.

Being negative is a flaw.
Realizing you need to change it is,
flawless.

How do you portray an image of beauty
through a blank skeleton
of nothing?

Humas are beautiful.
So why do we all feel the need to judge
those who are innocent and cannot change
their looks or who they are.

I'm tired of the useless chatter,
and more concerned with the things that matter.

Life goes so fast and you must see
how far you've come
to see where you're going.  

But, then the thought of going so far
for it all to come to an end.
But that's the thing called a journey my friend.

We don't have all the answers so why pretend to?

Learning to live in question
leads to more journeys and knowledge.
Accepting the rough times,
makes enjoyable times shine.

There's no need to question
or for a hidden message.
I just want to love and be loved.

Realizing negativity and faults all amount to nothing,
So why sulk when I can actually be something.

Nothing weighing me down but thin loose clothing.
The feeling of suffocation engulfs my bedroom,
don't touch me, or I'll scream.
I'll sleep naked,
and freely dream.

I'm shouting just to shout,
or  I think I'm shouting for you to hear me.
I want to be loved but I don't want to force it,
I don't want to pry like a banker doing an audit.

I, I, I, am stuttering,
stuttering because no words seem right.
And you, you, you, are someone I can't fight.
I don't want to pressure so I'll just write it in a letter.

Maybe if I hide I'll feel so much better,
but I found my walls talking, and they are always bitter.
I should hide for now and try again later,
I can, I can test the water and try not to falter.  

My words come out wrong,
I talk too long,
I yell out of frustration,
and, and, and push you away in fear of inflation.

I will try and work things out,
I can't say I won't shout,
and I will pout,
but, but, but, baby I can't find the right route.