I worry what people think when they see me

I fret and fuss about it unnaturally

I worry they think I look strange

These worries consume me and are hard to arrange

I worry about what I might do or say

Like talking about poo, or saying something’s “gay”

My mouth takes over and I can’t self-edit

I manage to most of the time; give me some credit

I worry people will see my bad teeth

And they’ll learn I’m also rotten underneath

I worry people’ll see my every imperfection

If I’m stared at I’ll turn my face in another direction          

I worry they’ll see my skin, it’s too dry and wrinkly

And I never get nude, ’cause my thighs and butt are all crinkley

Most would think I’m shallow and vain

Believe me, I’m not, I’d do anything to get this out of my brain.