His hair, her hair, I like it.
I'll go to the store and get it later.
I go ouot and buy it so I can be just like them, yet I yearn to be different.
I hear them whispering behind me.
They include me just to berate me and in some demented way I'm okay with taht.
At least I'm not forgotten.
I spend so much of myself trying to make a difference to others, that I've forgotten who I really am.
I remember being a runner.
I'm a professional at starting over, abandoning bits and pieces of my soul along the way.
Knowing I will morph into something they will like better next time.
Who could love the real me?
Who wants a beaten broken girl, now grown into a woman with no way to heal the scars?
I hide those scars with comedy; the laughter helps people not focus on my imperfections.
Maybe just focus on the imperfections I choose to shine the light on.
Inside I'm just so insecure and incomplete.
I've done so much and accomplished so little.
Half my life is over and I have nothing to show for it, other than the lies I've allowed others to believe.
"Oh, she's so funny, happy, and energetic." I'm really so tired, lonely, and scared.
I'm always turned on so others can find happiness in me, just once I'd like to dim the light and put out the "no vacancy" sign.
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