I'm not a beautiful waif who has graced the covers of Victoria's Secret, Glamour, Vanity Fair, or Playboy. I do not come from rock 'n roll royalty, nor am I a petite Asian chick who is looking to fill the role in your M. Butterfly fantasy.
I am not content to sit back and manage your domestic responsibilities (i.e. paying your rent and walking your dogs) while living vicariously through your epic journey of sexual exploits and drunken deviance. I have my own dreams, ambitions and goals; I am on my own path of self discovery and destruction.
I can see through your rugged exterior right down to the insecure and awkward boy who is overcompensating for the fact that he couldn't get laid in high school. Underneath all your tattoos and your strategically disheveled appearance lies a little boy who is screaming out for someone to worship him and equating that with love.
No matter how talented and attractive you may be, you will never impress me enough or make me jealous enough to satisfy your sick need for external validation.
I am way too badass for you: I've been in way more bar fights than you, made out with more chicks than you, I have better stories to tell, and let's face it, I can kick your sorry fucking ass!
It wasn't your musical ability that attracted me to you. It was your dark and mysterious eyes, but then I realized there was nothing at all behind them.
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