I must have been seven years old when I found out
That only the prettiest girls are the ones that people care about.

I must have been confused and cried my eyes out
But all I remember is that she was popular and oh so kind.

I must have been wondering what I had done wrong
They all seemed to be my friends, so why did they change their minds now?

I must have been worried about her, as all the others were.
She tripped and scraped her knee. It would be rude to not care.

I somehow had managed to give into the idea that I didn’t matter
For I had a broken arm and no one had asked me about what happened.

I must have thought that it was normal to be passed by so easily by all
Because everyone readily rushed to the aid of the poor girl with the scraped knee.

I suppose that it all made sense to me, even at the young age of seven.
Popular and pretty are all that anyone wants to concern themselves with.

I must have been willing to be a doormat filled with a whole lot of compassion
Just so that I could hold on to the very fake friends I’d managed to obtain.

I must not have understood that I deserved to be treated well,
Believing that I should be lucky to have anyone who would come my way.

I must have read a lot of books at that point in time
All of them full of some very terrible messages to live by.

I must have known that only people who are well liked get attention
It is not a huge realization, just the stark, awful truth of life.

I must have known that it was only the pretty girls who were the main characters
Even when they are not popular, they are always drop dead gorgeous.

I must have realized that I would have to change to be wanted
Yet, it never occurred to me that others would change alongside me.

I must have thought that I was nothing more than a sidekick
Only later on in life would the harsh truth of this make me cry tears

I must not have figured out that I needed to find better people
However, I really did like them and they really could be quite nice.

I must have been easily deceived in believing my stupid reality
Some stupid reason compelled me to believe that my reality was nothing but normal.

I must have been nine when my identity became the fat, smart girl
Intelligence at least got me some friends, although maybe not all that preferable.

I must have been convinced that I could never be anything but smart
When I became older, I never thought I could be anything else but that.

I must not have known that I was worth something more
Because every time I tried to be something else, I failed each time without fail.

I must have been seven years old when I discovered
That you have to be pretty and popular to get anywhere in this world

I must have been a little kid when I knew what others would take years to discover
That the world is a terrible, awful place full of hurt and pain

I must be absolutely stupid to still think the world is full of generally good people
But no one wants to tell the truth to the world, and I lack all the courage

I must have been fifteen years old when I walked into high school
And realized that, now, everyone else, too, knew what I had known since seven years old