My Days Are Made By You.

To the man that walks by me wearing my favourite smell, Joop, thank you.
To the man that will walk past me and turn around once I have past him, thank you.
To every girl that sees me and whispers something nasty to her friend, thank you.
To my friends that aren't ashamed to hang around with me, thank you.
To people that go to the bother of taking photos and getting them developed, thank you.
To people that send random texts to me for no reason, just saying hello, thank you.
To the artists that can write songs as if they've been reading my mind, thank you.
To the mind readers, thank you.
To the Irn Bru Carnival, thank you.
To everyone that told me I would love again, thank you.
To the graphics and art departments, thank you.
To Mrs Slaughters rediculous yet fabulous outfits, thank you.
To Cute Is What We Aim For, Kids In Glasses, Panic At The Disco and any other lyrically excellent bands, thank you.
To coffee, crisps, chocolate, fruit pastels, nutella and softmints, thank you.
To my cousin Stephanie, for being a nutter and an influence, thank you.

To almost every other sixth year in the school, no thanks will go to you for judging me before knowing me.
To the male half of the human race, you're not getting thanks for making my life a living hell.
To exams, if you think you're being thanked you can just piss off.
To mental breakdowns thinking they can bring me down, I'm better than that, no thanks.
To the creepy guys that always get the wrong impression when I'm nice to them, no thank you.
To 'snideys' from people that know I don't deserve it, you'll get a thank you when you wisen up.
To sunburn, you're never being thanked.
To the top floor of the cathouse, thanks will be given when you start acting your age.
To scene kids, no thanks.
To adults telling me to be mature, no ta.