The Losers.

We are the broken
all set out for your pleasure.
Bended
and oddly shaped.
We survived this
so I'm thinking we can basically survive anything.
With our problems on our arms
we are the young
and we are the hurt.

The girls who used to dance in white dresses
tell me, aren't we pretty?
The shine in our hair
lighting the smile on our faces.
We used to be princesses
with our gowns down our backs.
Now we're the heroes
with our stories ours to tell.

Disasters with triggers
we are beautiful.
Tear streaks down our cheeks
the mascara leaving trails to our lips.
No older then seventeen
we have the weight on our shoulders.
The overbearing thoughts in our heads
and we're still more sane then you.
Holding your hurt over our heads
we'll hold and comfort you.
With our cries the only ones
to have company for us.
We tell each other our horries
and now we have sympathy that truly understands.

We are the hurt.
And we truly are beautiful.