She's just a girl, but she's already lived her whole life. She's just a teenager but she's eighty inside. She just the girl who laughs, jokes, and flirts all day long, but if you were to see the look in her eyes, it'd give it all away. You'd see the girl that hides behind the static of the television of life in her eyes. Static infidelities trouble her, cheated and accused, battered and bruised; she never deserved her punishment.

Don't lie to her, she can see right through you. Don't lie to me.

She's the definition of courage, everything you could want and more. But she is overlooked. No one pays a second glance in her direction; no one needs her enough to remember her. No one. Nobody hears her screaming inside, but the sound shatters her eardrums. She is the girl, who will smile, and say she is ok, even though she's not; just so everyone else can be happy. The one who will take the fall for people she cares about.

She's just a girl…I'm just a girl.

She fell in love at age fourteen, spent two days with the man of her dreams before he was ripped away. She fell like an angel with her wings ripped off, she landed. She landed broken, bruised, battered, and destroyed. She begged the world for mercy, to leave her fragile heart to beat her to the end of her days, but the world did not comply.

We're really not that different, her and I.

She's so scared of everything. She needs you to feel secure. She says she likes you, she says she loves you, but she only needs the warmth of your arms. She's using you. I'm using you. I hate her for hurting you, for not telling you.

She loves you, but so do I.

She loves the smell of sunflower in the morning, and douses herself with the scent of vanilla. She goes to school everyday. Everyday it's the same routine, fake smile, fake happy, fake laugh, real tears.

She is human, she can feel. I am human, I can feel. I want to be treated human. I am human.

She hides behind static lullabies, and cries at the girl in the mirror. The voice in the back of her head tells her she's so beautiful, but he doesn't want to listen. All she knows is that she will never be good enough, or so she thinks. So she becomes someone she is not. She wears a little more make-up, dresses a little more flattering, and flirts with all the boys. Sometimes she wishes she knew who she was. Sometimes she wishes she could change the channel in her eyes to see beyond the static, to the clear blue skies.