I get insecure because first of all, I am not them and second of all, because I will never be them and quite frankly, I’m not always sure if that’s a good thing.
I get sad at the thought that they are not people you nor anyone would call stupid. They’re pretty and well groomed, stable and truth of the matter is, everyone wishes they were them. And I’m just a scruffy girl anyone would mistake as a boy any day.
I am remorseful that I didn’t leave so much for you to conquer. That you had to take me in with so much baggage when they have much less than a hand bag to check out.
Maybe because I know and I will always know that I’m no good for you. And even if I try to be, I usually find myself at a loss. Always wondering what things would be like if you had not left your key.
After all, what am I but dead weight? What am I but this person with no direction, probably no future, someone stupid and irresponsible? And what are they?
Everything I’m not.
And I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing.