I am not confident.
I know I am smart, but not in the ways that count.
I read people much better than books but I never have the words to explain my findings.
I’m only as funny as I feel, and I do not think I’m pretty.
I sometimes walk with my head down.
My posture is terrible.
I think horrible things about people and I let my emotions get the best of me.
I’m really not as nice as I’d like to be, or as innocent as you’d think I am.
I am a perfectionnist.
I am a contradiction to everything I want to stand for.
I’m a big dreamer with little motivation.
I am really no good at all, on my own.
But I am analytical with myself.
And I don’t understand how anyone could ever be cocky or proud when they are aware of all the disgusting things they think and do, but no one knows.
We’re all broken enough to be humble.