I'm not a graceful person;
I'm not an elegant person.
I'm a mess,
I'm self-destructive;
there isn't much to me,
no profound quality that
lies within me,
something that makes me special.
No, I'm just a writer who is lost
within her own mind; scared of
what lies within her.
Who spends her days drinking tea,
and writing really bad poems
(just like this one).
I'm not a graceful person,
I'm not a happy person;
honestly, I don't know who I am.