I am made entirely of flaws, stitched together by good intentions; Although the stitches begin to fray, and my flaws bleed through my skin.

I am like a star, destined to burn out. How much time will it take until you notice? Will I burn out long before you are able to see?

I am a language lost to time; unable to be deciphered. Nobody to understand.

It's lonely to not be understood. I speak and people listen, but they do not hear. My voice becomes lost in the wind.

I pick at my skin until it's raw, hoping to erase all the flaws— I promise my intentions are only good.

I just want to be pretty— I want to be better to look at. That's a good intention, right? I don't want to be an eyesore.

Tell me I'm pretty. Even if I'll never believe those words, I like to pretend I do.

I like to pretend I'm easy to fool— sure, I'm pretty. Tell me again. Tell me over and over, until your voice gives out.

I don't believe you.

I'm made entirely of flaws. My intentions aren't always good.. but I try.