the little things that pick at you everyday,
bother and bother,
wishing they would go away.
its so perfect, she thinks shes so cool,
she thinks shes the best,
so good at everything she could do.
makes me feel so little and unimportant,
so stupid and small.
wishing i could be, big and tall
when i get half-way,
shes already done,
when i almost cross the finish line,
shes already won .
when im better,
shes the best,
when i get half,
she gets the rest