They’ll tell me my eyes are stunning

But I think they’re too small

They’ll tell me they aren’t mad at me

But I won’t sleep, thinking they are

They’ll tell me my poetry is good

But I think it’s mediocre

They’ll tell me my body is perfect

But all I see is the opposite

They’ll tell me I’m a sweetheart

But really they mean I’m too nice

They’ll tell me I’ll find someone one day

But they’ve been telling me that for years

They’ll tell me it gets better

But they never tell me how

They’ll tell me all these words

But they go in one ear and out the other

I don’t think I’ll ever be convinced,

I’ll just have to find my own words to believe