I might be the worst anyone can be, according to beauty standards.
Still, all my flaws, all my ungodly features, are out in the open, for anyone to see.
And to judge.
I’m as vulnerable and sensitive as anyone can be, as well.
I react to what I hear while walking down the hall, or what I’m told.
What I hear when I have my headphones on and nobody thinks I’m paying attention.
And I promise you, I hate myself for that, every day.
There are only so many things I’m willing to change, but you’d say at the very least,
I should know who I am, truly.
So I’m going around collecting the pieces.
Some of them are handed to me with words of kindness, perhaps courtesy.
From gentle and selfless, sweet and compassionate, to naive or shy.
To angry and rough, to careless, to cruel, even. It’s tough to put it all together.
It might be a hard-to-grasp concept, but, maybe, ungodly features and all,
I’m merely human.