She's an artist of sorts,
With her brushes and paints,
But she doesn't use a canvas,
It's opinion she taints.

Around certain "friends"
She paints on a grin,
So she can be popular,
So she can fit in.

With other friends,
She's loud and obscene,
It's the aim of the game,
To be rowdy and mean.

Close to her family,
She's quiet and shy.
They hardly take notice
If she is nearby.

When she's with the guys,
Shes a tease and a flirt,
She gives and gives,
Ignoring the hurt.

The people nearby her,
They hope and they pray,
That they could be popular,
Like her one day.

But when she's alone,
She breaks down and cries,
For there is no answer,
When she asks, "Who am I?"

 
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