Young Writers Society

these feet are rated e for everyone

why do we sweat, leaving footprints on the floor?
how am i so consumed, trying to pick cool socks?
my feet never look the way i want
thought my nail polish looked cool, but now i don't.

i want to run but its t-i-ring me out
only out-s-i-de do i know
who's gonna run with me, go the extra mile
i can't decide if i want to be myself no more

but when the sun rises, and i go to the beach alone
i think to myself, is this sand all there, is to my feet?
people passing by, it's hard to decide if they're nice
leaves me to voices, telling me i am ugly

wish i coulda told myself that i'm not
and i am a work of art
how do i explain to them inside my head
i am beautiful

looked myself in my eyes, so i see myself cry for a minute
with the hope i've given myself
but then i think twice on how everyone lies
i remember i am perfect just how i am