Damaged

You are damaged.
Your mother always criticized you.

Your father always sheltered you.

Your sister was more popular.

Your brother always picked on you.

 

Well, aren't you special?

No, you're damaged.

 

You love that boy, but he doesn't even like you.

And the first boy you ever loved hurt you.

And you hurt the first boy who ever loved you.

But you didn't mean to.

 

Well, aren't you special?

No. You're damaged.

 

You're sick. In your mind. In your body. Not normal. Not typical. Not right.

 

Not special; damaged.

 

And I love you. Not because you're special -- because you're not special.

I love you because you're damaged.

 

I love that I could be the one to fix you...or at least understand you.

 

I love that you could be the one to fix me...or at least understand me.

 

I love that you and I could be a match most perfect on paper...if most flawed in practice.

 

Well, aren't I special?

No. I'm damaged.