Fake, Fake.
I sacrifice my time with you to be someone I’m not.
To be a lot that I can, and never will be. Fuck sin. We know that’s not what it’s about.
I feel fake. I feel false. I feel so far away from hope.
I’m not a photographer. I just think cameras are pretty.
I’m not an artist; I just like the feel of charcoal on paper.
I’m not a writer, I just like surrounding myself with fiction.
I’m not a lover. I’m just Taylor. I’m just me.
I’m not super pretty.
I’m not confident.
I don’t always have that pretty smile.
I don’t always want your compliments.
I don’t want to always be right.
Sometimes I go around looking for the fight.I want to scream at the world.
I want to cry to you.
I just want to be me. I don’t want this.
I want to be loved all the time;not when it’s convienient.
I want to live with dreams coming true.
I want to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
But the one you can come to and complain.
I want to be able to spend hours telling you my life.
My secrets.
What I want.
Everything I want.
I don’t want to be mad. I don’t want to fight.
I just want to hold on. To whatever there is to hold on to.
Dreams. Ideas. Deep discussion. Love.
I want to curl up. I want to scream, and cry.
I want to throw a fit. I want to get what I want.
I want everything. And I realize how childish I must sound.
You know. I really don’t caree. Just. Let me be me.
Love me for me.
Tell me that being Taylor is okay.
Being from Missouri is okay.
Being fifteen is okay.
I don’t want to fake it anymore.
