I'm not perfect. I'm not proper. They leave just like my thoughts of self worth. I'm broken. I'm lost. Barely holding on. Friends fade. Family is forever, but what am I? I'm the forgotten punctuation. I'm incorrect grammar. They write their stories and I'm never a character. She sees me as the villain. When I'm really the damsel in distress. Tales always have a happy ending but my book seems to be missing a few pages. The words dig into my skin like pencils on paper. I just wish I could be the title of the next best seller.