She wears her jeans a little too long,
So she can walk without shoes,
And she hangs up the phone,
Before hearing bad news,

She talks in her sleep about her fears,
And swears she doesn’t dream,
She claims to hate her peers,
Enough to make her scream,

Self contained and self accused,
Self destructive and self abused,
She says a tear doesn’t mean she cries,
And if she says so, it‘s not a lie,
Self centered and a little absorbed,
Damaged a little and self restored…

She thinks pink and green match perfect,
And her hair looks best in red,
Astrology is her favorite subject,
And nothing you say is what you said,

With a tattoo that no one’s seen,
And a heart that no one’s touched,
She’s a little more than what she seems,
But to herself, she’s not enough,

Self relied and self tainted,
A little deviled and a little sainted,
Don’t tell her she’s weak,
Or what to say when she speaks,
She’s a little sad and a little temperamental,
A little aggressive and somewhat gentle,

Of everything she is to everyone else,
And everything she tries to be,
The wonder that is herself,
Is the only thing she can't see.

 
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