I used to care about what you think
I used to wonder what actually is haunting you,
When we are out in public.

Is it the future?
Is it your pass?
A nightmare?
Perhaps us?

If it is us, what is it exactly?

I used to care about
What you think of me
When I try those new clothes.
When I try a new look.

But then you're like,
"Doesn't matter. You're pretty."
But it all seems like a pike
When you struggle to say the last word.

Once, a little birdie sings at me.

Maybe that's just the brave little me.
"Who cares about what they think?"

So I stopped.

I stopped with all the worrying,
Because I want to breathe again.