I'm sorry.
I'm so,
so sorry,
I really am trying my best..
but don't you know
that I'll just never be better than the rest?
I'm sorry I can't be what you want or need.
Although,
I'm trying,
and I know that should be enough.
But you just don't think it's tough.

secrets are like baby birds
once they break out of their shells..
they leave the nest, and fly around, free.

I like drawing hearts, they represent love.
Each one imperfect, misshapen, unique.
But still made for love.
Just like us.

I feel numb, unneeded,
I fear I don't fit in the way I think I do
Who would care if I was gone?

They say that what's outside doesn't matter,
but what if what's inside isn't pretty either?

It hurts,
it hurts so,
so much
knowing
that I'm
not the kind of girl
people right songs about
or think about,
care about
or fall for..
Cause I'm too noisy
but also too quiet.
cause I'm not gentle
and not that kind
and I'm not gorgeous
or amazingly talented
and smart.

Will I ever find love..?

I feel guilty,
And I think it's all my fault.
I feel guilty,
For being too much
but still not enough.
I feel guilty,
I swear
I didn’t mean to mess this up too.
I feel guilty,
Because it seems like
my presence just makes things worse.

I feel guilty,
And now I rot because I must.

"Stars shining bright above you"
Cause you're a beam of light, and I'm... a creature of the dark, fading.
But still, I hope you dream a little dream of me.

Everywhere I've thought I belonged,
I feel like they would replace me if they could.

Maybe it's because I'm too loud, too controlling, too much—
annoying when I should be silent, unaware when I should step back.
Maybe I just don't fit the way I think I do.

Now I'm just waiting,
waiting for someone I've cared about or helped to tell me
I'm needed, wanted, more than a foolish waste of space,
that I'd be missed if I were gone,
gone forever.

But for now, I can't help but believe
the world would be better without me.

It’s because I laugh too often and too loud,
'Cause I act too proud,
Act like a child running wild,
that they don’t think I could ever be unhappy.

And you?
you just don’t get it.

You think I’m too delicate,
a fragile piece of glass.
Dumb.
Naive.
You don’t get it.

You don’t know how everything you say—
every glance, every joke,
every offhand comment—
fills me with sadness and doubt.

"Can’t I do anything right?"
The words echo.
Bang.
Thud.
Throb in my head.

The sadness overflows.
I just want to lay in bed.
But you don’t get it.

So I shove it back down.
Lift my head up, grinning wide,
keep acting like the childish clown.

I hide behind silly jokes,
because it’s easier than showing the cracks.
Easier than letting you see—
that I’ve already started breaking.