No matter how hard I try to fight it;
and tell myself I deserve the guy that opens my car door, and is adored by my parents.
I can't stop this feeling.
And in the words of Lady Gaga,
I'm still in love with Judas baby.

I love *****, sad/angry, and different.

Bruises, and tattoos, drinking and smoking.

The guy that will pick me up on his dirtbike, but doesn't bother coming to knock on the door.
And then in the privacy of no eyes watching,
kisses me hard.

I love the fight,
the struggle,
I love a bad boy.