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I may not be perfect, I may be skinny, Just because i have my own personality, You don't need to class me as 'weird', Just because i'm smart, It doesn't make me a nerd, No matter what you say,...
I'm sick of this god damn mask I'm taking it off cos nothing ever lasts Reveal myself cos everyone asks What I look like and I can longer be arsed With a fake disguise and crappy lies I'm an honest...
Judge me not Unless you wish to be judged yourself I know I don't conform I know I don't fit in But fuck you I'm me You with your popular shit Makes you feel so big Really you are smaller then I I...
I'm sorry I'm not perfect. I'm sorry I make mistakes, I'm sorry I'm not another one of Your plastic, flawless fakes.
Sorry I'm not perfect. Sorry I'm not true. Sorry I'm not happy. Sorry I'm not you. Sorry I'm not there. Sorry I'm not extraordinary. Sorry I'm not thin. Sorry I'm just ordinary. Sorry I'm outspoken.
Names are a persons identity. All have there own definitions. Names with hidden meanings. That give you your life's position. Found something incredible. A name that makes my heart race.
But im afraid. Its too late. Ground falls from underneath. There isn't much to feel. Doubt in me rules me. Tries to make me urge me. Urge me to choose weakness over strength.
(a continuation of my previous poem) I wake up in the morning, Paint on my defence, Layer upon layer Of a beautiful pretence. Because everyone knows it's not enough, To leave your face In the buff.
I'm a little eccentric, But hey, who cares. I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuck- About common affairs. I'd rather be happy, And live in my world, Where I can take ANYTHING, That would've been hurled.
You cannot walk in my shoes Won't change point of views Like you didn't have a clue Hate is all that you choose Messed up, drugged up, loved up You just don't have the stuff Emotionless not too...
Layers of life peeling away Question is; What remains at the end of the day. I know it is wrong Trying to hang on I could finally be free If I could only be me Question is; Who am I.
When we are all made from those little pieces of magic called DNA, there are numerous of things that we inherit, such as eye color , hair color & skin, but i am different.
I hate when people tell me what to do or when. I hate being alone. I hate being with no phone. I hate the rainy days in the summer. I hate being left out. I love being me.
When you saw me smiling today, I seemed so genuine and true. My mask, my cape, my disguise deffinatly fooled you. Tucked up in the corner of my neck, there is a mask you can peel.
I am the girl that doesn't go to school dances, or games, and when I do go, I sit in a corner and read a book. I am the girl that people look through when I say something.
Why say, Or assume. That I am any more than what you presume. Why pretend to smile at my face, When you laugh about who you do not know and disgrace. Screw me. Come and say it to my face.
I am a small person In a big world I have a big voice But little patience I love singing Writing and reading I enjoy Martini Vodka and Gin Pasta is nom nom Salads and sushi too Any chocolate I just...
What makes you , you. Your smile Your personality Your jokes Your stile The music you like. The books you read and how you like them afterwards. Your sport. Your ideas. And how you are with people.
What is beauty. Is there a true picture of a beautiful person. Is beauty hair, makeup, and clothes. Or glasses, braces, and skin. Beauty is a matter of opinion.
Not the prettiest, Smartest, Or funniest. Overweight, Eccentric, Somewhat niche. A sense of humour, In the gutter, A tendency To be Overly Melodramatic.
I love the pain the needles bring. Each one piercing my skin, filling it with colour. Painting me like a canvas. It like I'm slowly becoming a piece of art. And I love it.
My whole life I have been slightly different to a lot of other girls.
Would you class yourself as ordinary. If not why not. Is there something that defines you as a person. If there is then you have just defined yourself as a person, am I wrong.
Some things are better left unsaid. A proverb I choose not to believe. Cause when you feel it rising a secret sears the skin. And life can barely be lived.