there's the girl in front of me, who's big & stupid & completely lacking in any sort of talent. but she's cuddled & kissed by everybody, the same everybody she talks about with other everybodies.
the girl sitting somewhere behind, she's not really intelligent, or really pretty, or really anything but a nice person. maybe a bit too nice, maybe a bit too kind. she's the lovable mashochist.
the people at the back, they're all cool. according to whom or what, no one knows. they can be just as fat or ugly or stupid as me, but somehow - they just look good with it.
i used to worry so much. trying to fit in. trying to be cool, kind, fake. in their eyes, i was a slut, a dyke, two-faced. everything they are i couldn't be.
everything is stereotyped beyond recognition, & we're not us anymore; we're what the people think of us.