I hate myself and my impatient ways
And how I overthink **** for days and days.

I hate the way I envy those better than me
And the way that seems to be everybody I see.

I hate how I cry every time I'm alone
And how they pronounce it 'scon' when I say it's 'scone'.

I hate that I'm lonely in a room full of mates
And my belief that I'm unappealing while I refuse any dates.

I really detest my mousy brown hair
And I hate how I'm here when I'd rather be there.

I'm starting to think never happy will I be
But maybe I could if I just wasn't me.