The Epitome Of

Sometimes I hate the epitome of the perfect girl. I hate their perfect picket-fence houses and nice brand-name clothes. I hate thier loving families and siblings that they never fight with. I hate thier perfect boyfriends, the epitome of what a boyfriend should be. I hate how they act like thier lives aren't perfect.

I hate things that are the epitome of something. Or things that seem so perfect but you know they aren't. I know so many people that are just the epitome of something spectacular. The epitome of a pretty girl. The epitome of what a guy should be like. The epitome of the perfect mom. The epitome of the perfect life.

I know I will never be the "epitome" of anything. And I don't really think it bothers me. No matter what, I'm middle class, or even below average. I'm just there. I'm that girl who is not really cool, but not quite a loser. She has enough friends, but not too many. You know a bit about her, but not too much. She's just THERE. You don't even think about it anymore. She wears "normal" clothes, has a "normal" life (so you think.) and thinks about "normal" things (so you think.) Maybe I'm only the epitome of average.

But you don't know what goes on in my mind. And if you did maybe you'd look at me with a new light. Through new glasses. Through the right end up the magnifying glass.

I'm larger then life.