You're so pretty!
Your face is beat!
Oh my God! You're hilarious!
I love compliments. Conceited much?
No. I'm quite Precarious.
I cling to others' affirmations like a teenager to their phone.
I'm always searching for approval. It's my happy place. My zone.
I need to know you view me well. Let me see it in your eyes.
When I'm not sure what you think of me, then comes my demise.
Did I say something to upset them? Am I just not you type?
I scream, "Why don't you love me?!" I echo my gripe.
I cannot live without approval. Your satisfaction is my demand.
I must control what you think of me. I have to understand.
If you don't like me, tell me why! There must be something I can do.
I have to make you realize that I am good enough for you.
Who cares if people don't like me? So what if I'm not your favorite?
But I'm broken with dissaproval. But approval? I savor it.
I wish my thoughts could be enough. I want to believe in me.
But I need your approval to survive. Please accept my insecurity.