Just Another

Sometimes I feel  like just another.
Another pretty face.
Another warm smile.
Another loud voice.
Another half-broken girl, striving to be good enough for someone.

Anyone.

Why?

Why do I need to be good enough for anyone besides me?
Why can't I live with myself unless someone else can live with me?
And why does no one want to?

Is something wrong with me?

Can I fix it?

Or am I just permanently obnoxious, insensitive, ungrateful, selfish, passive-aggressive, and far too prideful or underconfident for anyone to ever look twice at me?

And why do I care who looks twice at me?