I know who you think I am, but really, I'm not her. My name is no one, I come from nowhere, and I live a life of nothing. You'll disagree with me, I'm sure, but my opinion of myself hasn't changed yet. Maybe you can help...

I don't bathe in rays of sunlight, soaking up false beauty like other girls do. They think the only cure is to be pretty. They don't understand that pretty on the inside is more useful than that on the out. They relish in their use of charm and wit and cunningness. They think they'll always be able to capture a victim that way, but you know what I think? They're wrong.

I don't let warmth bounce off my hair, whispering through my curls like gossip from one's lips. I speak my fair share of words, some strong enough to kill the light in someone's eyes, but I don't express myself the way a killer expresses his deep desire for blood and the rush it gives him to tear someone so far down.

I don't shriek at bumps and bruises because they've somehow capsized my beauty. They do. And I laugh at the sight of them, squeamish with one look at a speck of blood. They'd never survive with a mind like mine...

Sometimes I act like that though, but on the inside that's not really who I am...
I don't belong in that group of young ladies that stress for being thinner. Yet, they are only growing wider in their vanity, gaining weight upon their shoulders fearing they'll lose their "perfect touch." What they don't know, is that they've never really had one. They envelop themselves in lies, creating a new image for themselves because the truth seems too tarnished.

I've taken part in all of that many times before; I'll admit it makes me feel like, maybe, I belong, but in the end I only get humiliated...

I laugh at this thought, but I never learn do I? I guess sometimes I just don't want to. I want to be like them on the outside, but I don't want to lose sight of my true self either. And that's the difficult part because, if I become one of them, a girl who loiters in false realities, just to cover up the none that is me... Well, I have to ask: Who, then, have I really become, and who has really been fooled?

Often times I realize too late that I try to hard to change myself to fit the image of others, and I only ever fool myself. Now I don't know who thinks what or who understands what I've really done to myself.

I try to look my best, at least I tell myself that's what I'm doing, but often times the ugly and the lies prevail. I end up using trickery on the people that mean the most and my lies gain me nothing. They make me lose so much, and still I don't learn from my past! My mistakes haunt me, and I don't know why I can't seem to change back.

I try to smile, even just a slight twitch of my lips, but most times a smile isn't there when it really should be. I can't be happy about the important things, and only sometimes the little things... But doesn't everyone say it's the little things that count? Although, I suppose I don't live by that rule very well either. And still none of that makes me feel worth something, so either way I am at a loss.

They all tell me "You are so greatly loved, " but I know it's all a ploy. It always has been and I can't tell if that will ever change. They don't really care; they just want me to think they do. They say they love me and that they always will, but the next thing I know, they are gone and I am in the dark again. Why can't I tell who they are inside from the very beginning? I suppose it makes sense that I can't because I don't even know myself. I know a lot of what has happened has been my fault, but not all of it can be blamed on me. They tell me to ask for help; they say I can't do this on my own, and if that's true, then I wouldn't have been a part of this evolving problem in the first place.
They tell me to be myself and not to focus on others, but then they go right back and tell me that others can see right through me, that I don't know what I'm talking about and that I should get a better grip. You can admire my features, feast on my body, flip through my emotions as if they are pages in a novel, or... You could be the one that steals a glance inside me...

I always think I've found the right person and I know I've shared that peak inside with too many people already, but every time something is different... And each time it is to that person I ask, why do you love me? What makes me so special, so true, so unique that you'd choose me over one of them? Why am I different in your eyes? Don't you know that my nothingness could take you over too? Ten my nothingness would be your nothingness, and then what would you have?

His answer is almost always the same. He says he'd have me and that I am the best thing that could happen. He will claim he always wants to be in my life, but it's always been a lie. But this time... I don't know... It different. And I dared to go even further. This will always be a memory above all others because I breathed three words I've said to only one other person. No matter what, I can't take back forever and always. So, I guess, I'll have to love him, even if one day he stops loving me. And if that ever happens I’ll have to ask myself: why do I love him and why can't I ever seem to love myself?