Call me selfish and I wouldn't deny it.
Call me obsessive and I couldn't prove you wrong.
Call me delusional and I should just smile,
but the tone of your voice is leading me along.

Every night, I take a scrap of paper,
and write down another little flaw of mine.

Don't forget

I can still hear the yelling
from the other side of the house,
as I fake sleep in my little sister's arms.

Another stain, another cry,
another secret, another night…

Call me stupid and I wouldn't know the difference.
Call me a liar and I'd swear it was true.
Call me weak, I've got the scars to prove it.
Call me ugly, I'll let you paint me disfigured black and blue.

Another scream, another lie,
adding injury to insult…

Your voice is shrill,
naming all of my faults;
all of my misjudgements;
all of me.

Momma, I try and I try
to erase them!

Momma, I don't want to be like this,
believe me!

will I ever be enough?

(notes: another written during geography class. I blame this on too many listenings of Dir en Grey's Berry and Cage… Oh, Kyo… I owe you so much…)