Some culture

I don't know why, but poetry is considered culture, even if it's pretty bad. So today I give you some culture. Not good culture, mind you, but... something.


"Don't like me how I am? Well screw you."
That's what they all say
And I do too...
It's not change that I'm afraid of
It's not settling for less
It's not making excuses
For not being my best

No fear, that's me
Usually

But I have a confession
(One small fear)


It's not settling for less
Just like I said 
It's wanting something and getting nothing instead


When you send away everyone
Who'd make you conform
Is there anyone left
Who'd weather the storm?
Who'd love all your quirks
Bad days and all?
To act as a net every time that you fall?

All those people who'd force you to be something you're not
Aren't worth it
Good riddance
But then, what have you got?

When they're all gone 
The question will be
Is there anyone left to love me for me?






Sorry if that's a little bit of a downer. It's just something that discovered a few days ago. But in case it was too sad, this ought to help: