I'm scarred.
My hips, my legs, my head.
All a little bruised,
all a little marred.
The cellulite
and stretch marks make my
legs look like lard.
But I know every word,
and every line,
because I have them all
stored up in my mind.
But I don't know if they've reached my heart...
don't know if my soul can play it's part.
And I'd like to play the human card,
but I look around at everyone else -
they look a little different than myself.
With their pretty smiles,
and perfect clothes,
their pretty, picture-perfect lives.
But then I remember -
they're just pretty, picture-perfect lies.
Because everyone's heart's been burned
and charred.
Everyone's been broken.
And everyone's scarred.
