******, more so than yellow snow.
Angry, more than a striking cobra.
I’ll be a good friend and warn you:
I’m not your *****, so don’t test me.

People are like play-doh to me;
this is why I can never grow up.
Try as you might, but your actions will never be your own.
They belong to me.

Manipulative? Yes, of course.
Ashamed? Certainly not yet.
I’m a danger to others when I’m alone.

Scaling a mountain with my own bare hands,
I’m tougher than nails:
Break me and I’ll harden again.
Chip me and I’ll re-grow.
Let me grow out and I’ll **** somebody up.

Sometimes I think I should be surrounded by four white walls.
I hate white walls—plain, empty, like that love you covered me with—
So I’ll cover them with scrapbook paper.
Band-aids are more fun to play with than antiseptic.