Every day is war to me,
A struggle to obtain reality.
A shower, my make-up, putting on my shoes.

It’s hard to see the point some days,
And no one has a clue.

I have been deemed so many things
By those who wouldn’t know.

High maintenance, a worrier,
A girl putting on a show.

I’ve been trained to feel unworthy,
Ugly and hard to love.

The pills, they make me tired,
But I get by just enough.

Sometimes I feel that I’m one mistake away
From losing all I’ve suffered for.

While every day is a success,
I am tired of my war.