"Look at her boots"
"What is up with her hairband?"
"She has too much makeup on"

I love how people do not get me. But I get all of them.
And that is what I love.
Because they cannot help to comment. And wonder. 
Why do I always seem to matter?

My style is a mystery and so am I.
You think you know me, but really, you do not know anything.
(You can read my blog a million times. Count my thoughts like sheep over fences.
Speak to me about heaven and earth. That is just one drop in the ocean.)
But I love that. How people speak their minds about what people wear.
Because I love nasty comments bouncing off my back.
It makes me feel invincible, in a way. 
When I am alone and I smile at the people who talks shit on me.
It makes it even more funny that I usually have little respect for people.
Generally, I think a whole lot of people look extremely silly on a day to day basis.
And I do not even mind looking silly. I wear silly on my sleeve and I love it.
Especially when I am surrounded by silly people, who wear silly like a 
fucking piece of toilet paper stuck to the backside of their shoes.
Quite frankly (or quite hilariously - I do not even believe that is a word)
they themselves have not got a clue about this.
Or maybe I am the delusional black sheep who watches the world behind beer goggles.
What the hell do I know? 

Back to scratch.
I will look however I feel like looking and wear whatever I feel like wearing.
And girls like me do not grow on trees.
Get with me and you will lose your mind and break your head.
Cry your lungs dead and turn yourself blue, get lost in the concrete with me.
I am a mystery and nobody has solved it yet. But you can try, darling. You can try.


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