I really tried to become the woman I was supposed to be. The perfect voice, the most beautiful face, the ecstatic friend— if she were to look at the girl she’s grown up to be, would she work as hard as she did… _for me_?

Looking back, I was creative, funny, great at so many things, and so where did I go wrong? Was I too bossy? Greedy? I cry and I cry, screaming why it was always me punished when it was the world who failed me. Why do they always gloss over me? Why do they always replace me? Why is it when I try and I try and I try that it’s no good at all? I need someone, something, to tell me what went wrong because I tried. I really _really_ tried.

When I look in the mirror, I see a monster stripped from an angel that could’ve been. It cries and cries and cries, begging for my help, yet, I can’t. Because really, you and me… We are the same. Hopeless in a world that only sees us as freaks of nature, and helpless because the world gave us nothing but wounds that cannot heal. No matter how hard both of us try, it will never be good enough against those the world favours the most.