Not a pretty girl.
When I look at myself,
I see nothing.
I see the rebuilding of one's soul--my own.
It needs tending to and I
will not let you take this away from me.
Not anymore.
I know you don't have one
and I know you'll never understand
but why would that matter to me?
I'm not you
and I refuse to ever be you.
You're nice and all
but you'll never be happy
and I'm sorry but that's not
my problem anymore.
I'm my own problem.
You created me
and you've destroyed me.
I'm sick of being a refugee.
On the run from something
that I can't explain with any other word
besides maybe "you."
Yes, I need to run.
But I do not need to hide.