You complain to me,
To my face
And about me,
Behind my back.
And for some reason,
You just can't fathom why I wouldn't want to be the perfect carbon copy of
you.
So I'll do us both a favor
And spell it out
In black and white
Since you seem not to realize what you're asking for is impossible.
I can't be you.
I never will be.
I don't wear flower patterns,
Or tight clothing,
Or all pink outfits.
Those just aren't me,
Those are you.
I don't wear makeup,
Or listen to "pop" music,
But then again,
I don't fuck around like you did.
So when you ask me to be you,
The perfect carbon copy,
Think about exactly what you are asking of me.
Think of my morals which you are compromising,
My sexuality,
My life and friends.
If I wanted to be you,
I would have complained that I don't look like you,
That I look like I was adopted,
But did I?
No.
So if you want a carbon copy, go out and buy one,
If you think you're perfect enough that is.