In every path I seek,
In every guy I meet,
I seem to be in an endless wreathe,
With high expectations I seem to be beneath.

I know I'm not cool or smart,
But why do they say I'm a work of art,
That I'm perfect in every part,
But I can't seem to accept it in my heart.

In every praise they give,
It feels like a joke in my head,
For these pathetic thoughts are all I received,
For I thought they're all I need.

I get uninterested often,
Which kept me on wondering when,
I'll get to have something I've never seen,
when I don't even know what I seek.