When I was a teenage whore
My mother asked me, she said, "Baby, what for?"

She had a brainy girls discomfort about her own beauty and its effects on folks.

for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through — the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form,

He looked at her and tried to discover behind her lascivious expression the familiar features that he loved tenderly. It was as if he were looking at two images through the same lens, at two images superimposed one on the other with one showing through the other. These two images showing through each other were telling him that everything was in the girl, that her soul was terrifyingly amorphous, that it held faithfulness and unfaithfulness, treachery and innocence, flirtatiousness and chastity. This disorderly jumble seemed disgusting to him, like the variety to be found in a pile of garbage. Both images continued to show through each other, and the young man understood that the girl differed only on the surface from other women, but deep down was the same as they: full of all possible thoughts, feelings, and vices, which justified all his secret misgivings and fits of jealousy. The impression that certain outlines delineated her as an individual was only a delusion to which the other person, the one who was looking, was subject — namely himself. It seemed to him that the girl he loved was a creation of his desire, his thoughts, and his faith and that the real girl now standing in front of him was hopelessly other, hopelessly alien, hopelessly ambiguous. He hated her.

I had one friend in high school, recently he hung himself with string, His note said "If livin' is the problem, well that's just baffling." And at the wake I waited around to see my ex-first love,
And I barely recognized her but I knew exactly what she was thinkin' of
.We sat quietly in the corner, whisperin' close about loss,
And I remembered why I loved her and I asked her why I drove her off.

As a teenager, I told everybody that I didn't care about anything, when the truth was I cared about way too much. Other people ruled my world without my even knowing. I thought happiness was a destiny not choice. I thought love was something that just happened, not something you worked for.

Les fleurs sont si contradictoires ! Mais j'étais trop jeune pour savoir l'aimer.

¡No supe comprender nada entonces! Debí juzgarla por sus actos y no por sus palabras. ¡La flor perfumaba e iluminaba mi vida y jamás debí huir de allí!¡No supe adivinar la ternura que ocultaban sus pobres astucias!¡Son tan contradictorias las flores! Pero yo era demasiado joven para amarla.

M: If you cannot impress people simply by being part of the great fat human race, then you really do have to develop other skills. And if you don't impress people by the way you look, then you really do have to develop other skills. And if you are now going to ask is everything I did just a way to gain some form of attention, well that's not entirely true. It is in a small way, but that's in the very nature of being alive. PM: Wanting to be loved? M: To be seen, above all else. I wanted to be noticed, and the way I lived and do live has a desperate neurosis about it because of that. All humans need a degree of attention. Some people get it at the right time, when they are 13 or 14, people get loved at the right stages. If this doesn't happen, if the love isn't there, you can quite easily just fade away. … In a sense I always felt that being troubled as a teenager was par for the course. I wasn't sure that I was dramatically unique. I knew other people who were at the time desperate and suicidal. They despised life and detested all other living people. In a way that made me feel a little bit secure. Because I thought, well, maybe I'm not so intense after all. Of course, I was. I despised practically everything about human life, which does limit one's weekend activities