Why can't I cry?
Why can't I bleed?
What's holding me back?
Usually I would plead.

My eyes feel heavy,
As I lie on my bed.
Reading James Dawson,
Wishing I was dead.

I guess I am Polly,
The one that would scar.
Or maybe I am Victoria,
Who hangs out at the bar.

But sometimes I feel Beasley,
Sassy with no care.
Although in realty I'm just a Daisy,
Empty stomach and brittle hair.

Freya, the geek?
Can never be me.
Though I fancy an Alice and Alex,
Whose love was so free.