so i don't paint my nails in shades of fictitious gaiety, i don't go out when the sun's up and put on another mask, i don't give boys chances to peek up my ovaries in short skirts, and i'm not like anybody you've met. so i've veered off the path to the one less taken, i've fallen over and scraped my knees and elbows with sins and marred my face with scars, and i've stumbled too many times, i lost count.

but i'm glad i broke out of the mould.

and this is how i'll be. i will be slave no longer to whatever pleases the eyes of many that see nothing anymore, i will not blow a kiss even if it guarantees me a life of luxury. instead, i'll just make a face, show you the finger and make you hate me inside out, because i do not need any patronisation.

so you think i'm an experiment gone wrong, but you know, you're just as flawed as i am. and the shame's greater on you, because you're blind to the fissures on your facade, your head's too high up in the clouds to notice, yet you still think you're perfect. but i won't say a thing - you wouldn't listen anyway - i'll keep quiet and see who gets the last laugh.

and that's your problem. you're always so careful of where your next foot goes, you're so caught up in your insecurities you don't see anything else, you've never stepped out of your comfort zone. but that's how you'll be: thriving on stepping all over those you disapprove of. you'll never change.

so call me the broken mould, the failed experiment, the perfect disappointment.
because that's what i am, the epitome of all letdowns.

i know i am, but i'm not.

because i choose to embrace it (unlike you).