I don’t know who you are,
but you deserve none of it,
none of that love you get.

Just look at yourself. No,
I mean really…
Look at yourself.

You like to look at You,
not yourself, self-centered.
You look at what you want,
what you project onto yourself.

You are beautiful.
You are an artist.
You are a poet.
You are an intellectual.
You are a singer.
You are the cure.
Everyone wants to hold you,
your friends all admire you,
and you can do anything.

You see all of this,
but you’re only seeing me.

Just look at yourself. No,
I mean really…
Look at you.


Are you anything at all?


Do you deserve to stomp
Me
into the ground,
and grind my face,
beneath your stylish shoes?
My face may be grubby,
but yours is still basic.
Simple.
Unremarkable.

Beneath the filth
you paint over my face,
I’m still more beautiful.