I often times forget that this life
is not someone else's dream
And I constantly find myself
tripping over things and failing to realize that
I did this to myself
I am not who they all aspired me to be
I was never the flower girl tip toeing down the carpeted aisle with a bouquet of red roses in her hands
Rather I grew up the quiet girl sitting alone
in the back corner of the church
Scribbling on her wrists with ink
and wondering how this life ever even came to be