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.