How can it be that people say that I am so beautiful, that I am strong, passionate and should be a model? How can it be that they say I inspire them, when all I see is someone who doesn't know who she is and who complains all the time? How can they see me as beautiful, when all I see is an average looking girl, who does not know what to wear or what makeup to put on? How can they say I am strong, when, most of the time, I feel like I could break any minute? How can anyone say, and believe, any of this, when I don't? Sometimes, I wonder about the sanity of the world around me. And, even more often, I wonder about the sanity of being me.
A/N: This is poetry prose style. It is supposed to be this way. I wrote this right after I read comments my friends wrote in my yearbook right before I left.