To whomever it may concern,
I should say thanks for all your work
However, I would like to voice a concern
Because, Mr. editor, you've got me unnerved
Frankly, what I've read was absurd

Just press Control-A-Delete
That was all you had to do
Now what you wrote will be where it needs to be, that's all required of you
Now maybe you can rewrite something new
Your job description tells me exactly what you do
So ask of you to, print my papers properly, free of fault
But, sir, I have a problem
So here's my note to you...

See, I woke up one morning to go on my day
Went downstairs, checked my phone, no texts from Bae
But that was when I read what your paper had to say

The front page headline read:
"This is what you see, this is me."

But, dear Mr. Editor, I've met the author of this article
And I know what is written is not how it started off

As I recall,
The original words were heartbreaking, to say the least
However, the paper I'm holding doesn't reflect reality
What you've produced is counterfeit
Yet your readers buy it
They fiend for your lying
Worst of all, they believe
They believe,
What
You
Wrote
About
Me.

Because of you, everyone around the world
Has a distorted view of this girl
Completely and utterly false...
And that's all she wrote

No, that's all YOU printed
You've got our views stinted
What's real? We've missed it
Reality's distant
But no one will listen
Because of what you've written
See? It's a cycle, it all comes back to you...

Mr. Editor!

You've got me sick like I was running a fever of over 100
But these girls think I'm cool, and these dudes think I'm stunning
Now you have me running, away

Preparing myself for this masquerade call my day
Got me feeling fake and I pray, Mr. editor, erase
Rearrange or change this face, tear stained but out of place
So I up my pace to stay in this race
But I'm tired...

Tired of waking up another day with the same games to play

Tired of going to sleep rehearsing lines.
I mean, rehearsing lies
You've got me tied

But I am a real girl

And you can't change that
Can't turn my heart wooden
Still, I complain that
You got my heart where it shouldn't

So I stop

And I ask you to, too

Stop trying to define me
Quit trying to refine me

For what?

A higher review rate??

Because here's mine;
You've never written a word that was accurate.
I'm done with all your fake ideology. I ain't having it.

Because you twist the truth
To fit the views of you
But your glasses are broken
You can't see
Me.

Mr. Editor, if I could I would fire you
At this point I'm tired of you

Let me correctly to your job;
The headline reads:
"This isn't what you see, this isn't me. Look underneath"

See, you are Frankenstein and I'm your monster
But I am really real, I can't play puppet any longer

I am no longer who you create
I am unedited, I'm no longer fake
Honestly, I've never been me
So, Mr. Editor, just press delete.