I am an ugly vase. I am completely empty, and waiting to be filled, with little hope of it ever happening. I am common, easily broken, easily replaced, and easily forgotten.
I cannot dazzle you with my wit, because I have nothing to say. I am expressionless, emotionless.
I am the artists first and only creation, he was afraid to fail twice.
As I sit here tonight, I wonder how anyone could ever love me. I am no more beautiful on the inside than I am on the outside, thus I am not beautiful at all. I am not the type of girl who a boy brags about to his friends, nor am I the kind of girl whom he would want to take home to his parents.
I am nothing like my mother. I am not strong, I am not courageous, I am not skillful, I am not brave. I have not become the person whom I was seeking. I did not find my true self, my true self found me, and if I had had the opportunity to select who I wanted to be, this is not the person that I would have chosen.
I do not feel true compassion, or love. My heart is black, and it is cold, it's only purpose is to pump blood through my veins, and even that seems like a struggle.
I lie. I deceive. I gossip. I ridicule. I am lied to. I am deceived. I am gossiped about. I am ridiculed.
I am me.
I am her.
I am you.
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