Sliced wrists, tattered legs, broken heart. Her personality is incognito because she's afraid that if someone sees the real person she is, they'll judge her. That's why she hides. She hides behind make up, black lipstick, poems and music. Guys played with her heart as if her love is an amusement. Guys used her, they abused her, just to try and get her in bed for a one night stand like she's a groupie in a band. Fat, ugly, worthless are words being tossed in school. Words pile in by the dozen. They say she's not treasured, that's why her heart is heavily festered. No friends, not even a clique as she looks at the schools clock go... tick. On the outside, she puts up a front so nobody knows her pain. Long sleeves on a 90 degree day to cover up the heartache on her arms and her wrists. She rocks 8 wristbands to cover up the sharp utensils artwork from last night, last week, and last month. Her wrists look like train tracks. Slicing up the elbows curve, crossing over the Technicolor lined on the inside. Cutting over vital veins, she's abandoning all sane thoughts. Tight black jeans no matter what weather is what she sports to cover up the memories of daddy acting nice, stroking her hair behind her ear but she knows he has different intentions. She wears jeans to cover up the hurt of being worthless and not treasured.