Scorned and wide open

Scorned and wide open
Misunderstood, pretty, older than before
Not old enough to understand
Too old to be perfect

Too aware of where the legs meet but too scared to say so sober
Ashamed of needing to be drunk to be real

Why can’t it be like it feels like it is
If I were inside out people would run
I am beautiful when I think of my arse protruding

I am great when I pull the ugliest face I can
Teeth bared, nose squashed, lips forced down, eyebrows thick over my eyes

Safe but not satisfied
Challenging everything inside my closed mouth and open mind
Not challenging anything real except in my pretend me

Where am I
Where the hell am I

. . . is that what it feels like?