Who am I?

Who is this person, inside my head?

The head that lays on my pillow in my bed,

These thoughts I have, cannot be mine,

The girl, whose personality used to shine,

I can’t remember any specific day,

When my personality washed away,

Maybe it was like sand to the beach,

Washed away piece by piece.

My colleagues say I have matured,

But what has maturity procured?

A girl, puberty has handed a complex,

What I wonder, will be gone next.

Please hand me some of those rose-coloured specs,

Let me see myself in a new light,

No longer this walking parasite.

I know my life has not been hard,

So why do I give it so little regard?

Am I fat, am I ugly or mean?

Am I stupid or is this feeling just a routine?