My war with the mirror is undeclared
And every spoken word stings red
The glances are whispers unshared
I'm never sure what's in their head

I hate myself for the things I don't say
But I hate myself more for ones I do
My words, my only chance of being heard
Are always betrayed, delayed, pushed away

Smiles and giggles are all that I can provide
I couldn't, for a moment, push them aside
Because I hate myself for the help I need
I loathe every sentence that plants a wrong seed

Every conversation I could take back?
Well I might as well be dead
What good is a life if it cannot be spoken
What good am I if I can’t stop choking

Don’t call me sweet
Don’t you dare call me beautiful
Your words won’t fix this
But mine will.