And sidently,as the light from her DIY lamp hit her face,she realised.
She had yellow teeth. Her pores were cloged by her expresive make up, her clothes had stains of paint. Her nails had some scraped imperfect nail polish.
She made faces out of her moles by drawing lines and dots with blue pens.
She often wore miss matcher socks.
She sometimes had one earing with a piece sign.
Her DIY vest was badly stitched,having loose threads. All of her notebooks and agendad were full to the brim with drawings and notes.
She had a favorite hoodie in which she cried alot,so much so that the sleeves were decoloured.
She used to bite and eat pencils, chew them out.
She always clenched her teeth because they were to big to fit in her mouth.
Some cat hair always could be found on her clothes.
...All of that and more
And there was no one to write about it.
There was no ine to paint even one line to show that.
She could do it yourself
But if she doesn t give her life away to praise others,no one would like her anymore.
She was like an overachieving child , finding the cure for cancer just so their friends or parents would say ,,congratiulatuons"
She didn t like her ,,friends"
Gosh,she hates them.
She never meet someone who is more boring than them.
They were like an obnoxious white room full of lights.
She wanted to just bash their head and stab herself if she heard one more word..
...And of course,if one is to rust and be beautiful,painted in all of the colours,the shiny non rained toold look like fucking boring bitches.
They are silver.
They are shining
You are not.
So you re alone.
Because you wrote about someone elses choped nail polish, someone elses spots of paint,someone elses cloged pores.
You dumb fucking bitch.
You waisted your life
