I guess I'm a fat, cold, spoiled, immature, slacker--
If I believed the things said about me.
I guess you can take a number--
You'd be number eight, at least.
How does it feel, standing in that line?

I will take the heat,
But I'll give it right back--
And double the speed.
I won't pick up your slack.
Tired of teaching lessons
That are so hard to grasp,
Only to be smacked,
Stabbed,
When I least expect it
By the people I let in.

They call me cold,
I take it in stride.
But late at night,
I lay down and cry:
For the deception I've suffered
For the 'unconditional' love lost
For the lying lady I mistook for a friend...
It always ends with me saying "never again".

Stop. Reverse. Repeat.

No one sees the real me--
The me when I try to sleep,
But torture myself instead.

The mornings I dread:
Another day faking
Another me, misled
By someone I trust.
I leave them in the dust,
But their breath still haunts
And taunts.
Their words shake me
To the core.
Can't live this life
Anymore.

Their lies rot through me
I'm not perfect, sue me.
Give me a shout
When you are.

But until then,
I'll wear these scars--
Remembering to tread carefully
And trust few.
Expect nothing,
But get what your due.
The only way
To make it through:
You have to look out for you.