I’m scared to death of being poor. It’s like a fat girl who loses 500 pounds but is always fat inside. I grew up poor and will always feel poor inside. It’s my pet paranoia.
It’s my body and if I want to do it like Michael Jackson, I will. My nose bothered me for a long time. Now it’s smaller and I’m happy. If I wanna put my tits on my back, they’re mine!
I don’t need a man. But I’m happier with one. I like to have someone I can touch and squeeze and kiss. But I don’t fold up and die if I don’t have a man around.
I’m insecure about everything, because I’m never going to look in the mirror and see this blond, blue-eyed girl. That is my idea of what I’d like to look like.
