My problems are a mystery of my own.
People think I'm perfect, a goody-goody, happy, the
sweetest girl they've ever met.
But what they don't know, is
I put on a face to please those
around me. A people pleaser, if you
will.
I am not happy. I never have been, I don't
know how to be. I'm ashamed to admit that
suicide has crossed my mind.
I lie, I cheat, I make fun of people.
How is that good? I want to be
a good person, but what does that mean?
I've lost all faith. I used to believe in
God. Now my prayers are silent and
go unanswered.
To be a better person, do I
have to love who I am and accept
me for me? I don't know if I can.
Author notes
This is a work in progress...A rant really. But oh, well. I've got writers block and have to start somewhere.
A contest entry
- Nobody Perfect by Tara1396.
305 points, ended May 12, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Adding your comment: