I'm sorry that I called myself beautiful it was uncalled for to play on your insecurities
I want to call you beautiful, wonderful, fantastic. I just want to call you. And if you didn't know
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Then you didn't know a lot: About
The sorry girls in the third floor bathroom. Who can't hold down their lunches like they are rumors and memories from past times spilling through lips painted red like stained glass into the ears of the all consuming toilet bowl. Or the girl filling her self up with anything within reach hoping to have there be padding in the empty spaces of her heart and masking the feelings that disillusioned her about the current area and caused her hope in her current generation to go down to .001. Or the girl who never knew that bleeding could be so raw, and painful and beautiful and a delusion of grader painted onto flesh toned walls. I'm sorry I prayed on you insecurities, it's not my fault you look so cute when you're vulnerable. I'm sorry that I can't play nice and I'm sorry I'm cruel to those I love the most.