I get it, okay?
Everyone that knows you
thinks you're amazing.
Don't get me wrong,
you are.
But I will never know
what it's like to be
in your shoes.
Girls want you.
Guys want you.
You've been with more people
than I have friends.
I thought I had a chance
with him,
but then there you were,
getting him to tell you
that he thought you were
the most attractive person.
You come home from the mall
with bags of the hottest new fashions
yet complain when one store
doesn't have your size.
I leave empty handed,
"hot" does not coincide
with the size I wear.
The dressing room mirror
despises me.
All your other friends are
beautiful, flawless.
I am just a piece trying
to fit into the wrong puzzle.
I love you to death,
I always will.
But I really think that
I hate you.