Why can’t I be like her?

Why can’t I be like her?

That pretty girl with diamond earrings

and a necklace to go with it

Why can’t I be like her?

Because I have no tattoos

nor piercings covering my body

Why can’t I be like her?

The better question is

why is it always someone else and never me

I know I’m being dramatic

but the crack within my heart aches

It is an ache that has forever been opened and revealed

then ripped open again

Her panties hang there

right in front of my face

just like when I found hers on the floor

in the space that used to be mine

Why can’t I be like her?

Maybe its because he thinks I’m not as messed up as he is

Little does he know

my soul is a gaping chasm of pain and suffering

I’ve just learned to craft it into art

and beautiful words

Maybe he thinks I’m too normal

too put together to understand him

Little does he know how messed up I am on the inside

How sometimes I crawl my way through my own head

and am silent on the outside

still

like a volcano that’s been asleep for thousands of years

I keep it contained out of abuse

because I grew up having no other choice than to

conceal, don’t feel

But all I do is feel

And he thinks I don’t

What a sick joke this is

Everyone makes suggestions about stereotypes

and I guess this is mine

I’m too much of a good girl

little do they know

Why can’t I be more like her?