Laying here alone in my bed,
writing angsty teen poetry in my head
Because my words are generally misunderstood
and I want to spread,
a more positive message
but I feel like I'm missing something

Now I open my individuality to the world
by writing interchangeable verses
left open to interpretation
trying to impress her with my vague themes,
quick wit, and fascination with things
most would find less than semi-interesting

and so what if my self-confidence is tattered,
or if I only have an average sized ego,
contrary to what I'll tell other people

and even if it never makes any difference,
or if I never realize my potential
My chances with women with steadily decline
until I'm rendered undateable

I'll continue to seek solace in drugs
because I've never been partial to things like girls
and the act of reproduction

I embrace inadequacy

Its all the rage;
I'm the ******* cliche

And I lack social grace

All aboard the bandwaggon,
Because all my friends and I
have the same hair
and general outlook on life

Some people have real problems and some have lives,
I don't think I fit into either of those percentages

I'm bound to live without meaning
for the rest of my days
because I've ****** up everything
I've ever felt meant anything

you can see it in my face,
behind this facade I put on
Smile :)