When you see me, you look so sexy
but you look so bad in my diary.
Of yourself, you think so highly
You call me a bitch when you yell at me
but you’re the bitch in actuality.
You like to think that you admire me
but you disrespect me in reality.
You say you’re really proud of me
but your pride won’t let you see clearly.
You swap your spit for my dignity
pounding your fists and hitting me
upside my head but I don’t need pitying.
Your fists are clenched but empty
I have a triumphant victory
I manage to hold my grip on reality.
You say what happened is a fabricated story
but the truth is something different entirely…