I'm not capable of attracting love...
It's not lack of self esteem, I'm just too honest to lie
to myself that I'm worth loving... I'm not... no body loves a tattered rag...
None can admire to squeeze pus out of a bruised ego
or tend to wounds of a broken heart, none can understand the hurt
I know how nasty and infested my injuries are and only I will ever know my pain...
I'm splintered beyond  the point anyone can fix
and too wrecked to try sailing the romance waters again...
I might be handsome, outspoken, with a voice every lad wishes he had...
I might be doubly talented in speaking and writing words that can make the aged and
corroded bones of the dead locomote in their tombs
but that beauty can't match the ugliness of my reality...
it's easy to lie to myself that the love of my life and I will soon meet
for my fate is too bitter a truth to admit yet I refuse to spit...
If I was a lass I wouldn't date me for that's how unbearable I am...
Nobody can love me, not destiny, not love, not success, not even me.