We're All Just Analogies

I have a room that’s filled with notebooks
And every notebook is only half-filled till the tenth page
Every pen that I have has only ever been used twice
Every diary entry ever written has been torn out as if someone would care enough to snoop through whatever useless thing I was doing at the time.

I was a little girl who was obsessed with the idea of creating the perfect image
And the image was always changing, always being influenced by whatever thing I admired at the time
Always filled with so many inconsistencies it felt like my whole life was a lie
I was a little girl who was living through other people.

And then there came the time when I started at my very first year of my very first high school
And high school is supposed the time when you start feel insecure and insignificant
For me, high school was my little air pocket in the whirlwind that was my life, where I had the chance to say whatever I wanted because there was always going to be a new piece of gossip around the corner that would wash it away instantaneously
It was a place where I could breathe, hidden in the folds of the endless waves of adolescents flying through the hallways
And then I realized that we all seem to be trying to disappear at once because the adults tell us that all we need to be more confident – is to just get rid of all our insecurities.
They don’t seem to realize that our insecurities are the majority of who we are.

Now, what would happen if the world was a bowl of pumpkin soup?
What would happen if you decided to take out all the spices because someone else told you it would make it better?
Quite obviously, you’d start to get tired of it
That bowl of pumpkin soup would be one of the most boring things your mom’s ever had to force down your throat in your entire life.
Because the world is never as great without the special things that make it what it is.

Now, I know that I'm just some random 15 year-old
I'm just a bowl of pumpkin soup full of spices that’s been left on the kitchen table of a family of five
And I’ve learned that I'm not gonna be here long

So I have room that’s filled with notebooks
And every page I turn to is a different chapter of my life
Every diary entry that I write is just unfiltered words spilling through my hand onto a page
Every word I speak is just a handful of spices in the pot
I have some notebooks, and bowl of pumpkin soup, and whatever other kind of analogy that I've decided to make
I'm nowhere near the ideal of perfect I had when I was a little girl
But I've learned that my insecurities are what make me just as perfect as I need to be.


**A/N: Sorry the ending is way cliche lol**