The media says I'm ugly,
Because I'm not bleached-blonde or skeletally thin.
I'm just the girl,
Who says that looks don't matter,
But longs to be different at times.
She cries and wants to be different,
She cuts up her old magazines,
Just to display some contempt,
For the clones that are destroying her life.
"I want you but I don't want to be a disappointment to you"
She rises from the ashes of her former thoughts,
A phoenix of burning individuality,
To hell with the models, they're dead inside,
If I'm a disappointment to you, you're not worth it.
The way I am.
"Am I a disappointment to you???"