I guess I must be A criminal Because I Am a prisoner And people hurt For a reason As far as Reasons go I don't have many Just a bucket Full of guilty Misbeliefs All the lies That I tell To the me In the mirror I know I'm No good But god I'm Just a little girl Only fifteen Aren't I allowed To think I'm pretty Can't I believe That someone Might love me What happened To twirling my Fingers in My curled hair Because they All say to Trust my intuition But intuition's A ***** And she says Everything I don't want To hear That is my Heartbreak Reality My saddest Totality
I am not Pretty I am not Witty I am not Smart I am not Creative I am not Loving Nor am I Loved I am not Perfect I am not Enough
I don't know what to believe anymore. Sometimes, I want to believe that I am not bad, but it just seems so fake. I know I'm full of ****, and I might as well own it. Right?