You always pointed out what I was not, instead of what I was.

Over-exaggerating what was bad, but never breathing a word of the good.

Focusing on all that I lack, with a mouth full of "Should's."

You never loved me, you loved the thought of what you could make me.

I am not clay for molding your vision of a masterpiece to make
me easier to look at, and lay claim to, boasting about saying,
"Look at what we've made."

I was already the Mona Lisa but all that could come out of your mouth was,

"Why oh why doesn't she smile?"