I want to feel important like the center piece of a picture,

I don’t want to be the rock or the little chunk of grass,

I’m tired of being the colorless towel never noticed,

As I am just thrown around and wet and lonesome,

My only wish is to truly matter.

In a way that the stars glow from thinking of me,

The waves hit the shore hoping to touch me,

My love’s hands ache missing my touch,

I want to have a lover.

In his made up imagine of the right girl,

The girl that doesn’t exist in the real world,

To be me and I want exist and be perfect,

I don’t want to be mediocre anymore.

I just want ideas to flow and flow into my brain,

I want for my poems to be noticed,

And for someone to think I have potential,

I want potential and to write good,

Instead of this whiny ******* I pretend is good,

I want to feel something real.

So tired of feeling like there’s something wrong with me,

Why doesn't any guys seem to notice me,

Do I have to parade around like a Victoria secrets model,

In some ***** lingerie holding a ‘date me’ sign,

I want know if this writing **** is a waste for me to pursue,

Because maybe my writings are as ****** as I feel.

When I was a little girl I use to sit outside,

Picking flowers for every crush I had,

"He loves me, he loves me not, He loves me"

And as I carefully picked that last petal,

Agreeing with the words I had just spoken,

Well I’ve that is when the **** seems to get bad.

When you open your legs like the last flower to bloom,

He always allows that spacious winter to come through,

As soon as he get’s his reward just like a dog he is done,

And he throws you away like a **** baby in the trash,

But aren’t babies suppose to be life’s happiness?

He acts like he has taken the time to explore you,

As if he took the time to feel the way of your curves,

To observe your insecure face with out the makeup,

To see how you blush when he is in your presence,

How dare he act as though he has grown tired of you,

As if he really did pick at the petals of your soul,

The way you once picked all those flowers as a child,

"He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not"

For he has not taken the time and does not love you,

He loves feeling on those curves of yours though,

The way he loves to drive that fast car accelerating,

But it’s not love and it’s just him having lust and thrill,

But lust is never it is never enough to keep him around,

The way he upgrades his car every time it hits too many miles,

He will too decide to trade you in as if he can return you,

Get rid of all the feelings he has made you falsely feel,

But remember he never truly gave you his heart,

He acts like you are as disposable as paper,

But maybe you’re just like the **** paper,

So strong  and independent once you were an oak,

But you allowed a man to knock you down,

Allowing him to turn you in to that paper,

With all this meaningless **** written on you,

You’ll be thrown away and forgotten about.