There is no great mystery to life.
We do not all have some greater purpose
Or some all important place in this world.
Some of us are just here.

This huge pressure of making a difference,
The gnawing need to make an impact,
To not be forgotten when we turn to dust
Is an all consuming anxiety

There is no riddle to the beating of your heart,
No conspiracy to the air in your lungs,
You are breathing, your heart is beating, and you exist.
Sometimes that is all there is to it

We are not all destined for greatness
And the realisation that we are one of the many,
Is more horrifying than any else.

I'm glad I live in an average place
So that I can keep my breath
Who cares about the lack of sights
If my lungs keep me from death
And sure it's not quite pretty
But there's certainly some charm
To back up quiet living
Without tracheal alarm

you're not pretty
like all of these other girls that you see
on the tv and in magazines
but who you are
is so unique
more than those other girls
could ever hope to be

normal
is what’s normal for me.
i’ve got nice clothes,

nicer than most. Pricy
things that other girls would
**** for, or shoplift, if they

could get away with it.
i have a room of my own,
decorated to my taste

and most of the time
when i’m home, i
hang out in

there, alone. listen to music.
read. do my homework.
what more could a girl ask

for, right? i mean,
my life really isn’t so bad.
is it?