The words "slut" "drunk" and "fatass" scar my face like a mask.
I wonder how long this will last,
Because I doubt I can handle it anymore with class.
He looks at me with such dignity,
But can't he see what my past has made me?
I'm nothing but a giant scar,
Trying to forget who she was at the start.
Maybe this is depressing,
But, hell, hopefully you'll learn a lesson.
Your past shapes you, molds you, creates you.
Just when you think you've escaped it-finally fled from its grasp,
It will come reminding you that forgetting is an impossible task.
Hopefully one day I will finally see,
The person I was truly meant to be.
But for now, all I see,
Is a screwed up me.
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