I often go down to the beach with my shoes off and my feet in the sand, wandering, wandering, wondering what I am doing with my life.
I bought myself a rose today to make me feel beautiful. Sometimes a girl just needs a pretty flower. It’s a burgundy rose because red is too cliché. I always buy roses with the thorns still on, I don’t like things that are unnatural. Besides, roses with thorns make you pay more attention to the details – you don’t want to get pricked.
I hate yellow roses and pink are far too pale, but I love purple and white.
My thoughts are scattered.
You used to think me beautiful, Now your eyes wander far too often, Staring and seeing only others; never me.
You used to think me picture perfect, Now my picture is tattered, torn, Left forgotten on the floor of your bedroom.
You used to think me artistic, Now you find me laughable, my art is silly and meaningless.
You think her beautiful. You think her picture perfect. You think her artistic.
When I leave I won’t say goodbye – goodbyes are too messy for me – and you won’t know I’m gone until you miss me. Whenever that is … it’s hard to miss someone you don’t think about.
I’ve tried to be pretty, pretty perfect for you but I fail every time. Even my stockings won’t stay whole … they rip and shred like my tangled mangled heart.
I can’t ever be as perfect as you need me to be (as perfect as you think you deserve)
My photos aren’t as pretty, my art isn’t as beautiful.
My curves are too curvy, my hair is too flat.
And my thoughts are too scattered.
We don’t love like we used too, and our hands don’t touch anymore (only when we’re sleeping).
It’s hard to love, love perfect for you. I try but I fail every time and cry silently, shaking in sobs while you lay sleeping and oblivious.