When your teacher is nice but can’t fucking teach
When your teacher is mean but teaches really good
When you’re teacher is nice and teaches really well, but the class is full of fucking twats
When the students are well behaved but the Teacher is still a fucking bitch
when your teacher keeps getting replaced because it’s defence against the dark arts
When you say that I am beautiful,
tell me why.
I don’t want you to just say it to flatter me,
or make me blush,
it will work in your favor, sure,
but if you’re going to tell me that I am beautiful,
make me believe it.
Because, I wake up with myself every morning,
and I know what my hair looks like,
and I have probably seen the way my eyes look more than you have.
I know how my eyebrows look, simply because I have refused to pluck them,
my ears and nose are rather average,
and I have memorized the small gaps and overlaps of my teeth,
so I know what I look like,
you don’t need to remind me of my facial features,
you’re going to have to try a little harder.
I know I talk with my hands,
and I know I stutter from time to time,
I trip when I walk, over nothing but my toes,
and I bite my nails, did you know that?
I pick at my cuticles when I am nervous
and crack my knuckles in any emotional state.
I probably giggle too much and smile way too often,
and overuse the words, “I love you”
are these things that make me beautiful,
or just make me who I am?
I don’t know,
you’re going to have to make me believe it.
I make things, out of junk and I cannot draw a simple stick figure,
I spend way too much time writing, and not enough time talking,
and I can’t even whistle a short melody,
let alone sing one.
My heart is everywhere but beating inside my chest,
and I look at world maps and think about the different faces
in each different place
and I wonder if these hearts feel worthy of love sometimes.
Take a look at my thoughts, dig
do you still think I am beautiful?