MySpace a place for friends

Hi, my name's Jeffree Star and one time God told me it was unhealthy to be so popular, that's probably why I'm sick all the time. Go and buy some sunglasses because the future is bright pink, bitch.

[sorry if we can't all be unoriginal] but I have a mold to break.

I’m a billboard, advertising your aging confidence, self-destruction and sagging self-esteem.

The appearance of my own body is cut and dissected every time I breathe. My horror of beauty is not when I’m laying naked on the bathroom floor, but when I’m staring at myself, wondering what’s underneath the painted-on feelings and made-up eyes. I’m not a fucking beauty queen. When I walk into the bathroom, I’m not getting pretty.. I’m destroying myself. Repairing myself from the damage I’ve done. Whether YOU like it or NOT. The ceiling of fear crashes down on me when I pick up the latest fashion magazine and find that no one else looks like me. But what is ME? Where has the word "real" gone to? Maybe reality is blonde hair, plastic body parts, tan skin and porcelain teeth? I think it’s sweaty skin, smeared lipstick and a big mouth, being afraid of nothing and truly LOVING yourself without BEING someone else. The vanity sanctuary will keep me safe and you can try to break me down but you’re only hurting yourself, just like you’re supposed to be doing.

I’ll be dying in my makeup and you’ll be dying without it. Did you have a point? Because somewhere in your own special ugliness you lost meaning and I forgot what you said. So center the text and write some more, it’s all mine..and its all needneedneed.
Memememememe.

You’re famous last words were forgotten because no one was listening.
Quite time now, surgery isn’t an option.

They said I'd never be anything but who has the world watching them? Who has such amazing and dedicated fans? People need to hate me because they hate themselves. They want to believe the rumors about me because they don't have their own rumors. I'm here to stay, with my diamond rims and pink lipstick, so get used to it and worry about yourself before you try and be negative towards me.

I'm a getaway car for real feelings. I'm your Miss Methamphetamine, the truth shoved up your nose. Smile, with your gasoline teeth and forced empathy. Let me be the one thing that makes your heart break because you can't help it. You need someone like me to make you feel wrong.

Everything is monotone like my dead fucking eyes and I'll say "I'm the only Miss America. I'm what your mother was supposed to be. I'm perfect."

"I want out of the labels. I don't want my whole life crammed into a single word. A story. I want to find something else, unknowable, some place to be that's not on the map. A real adventure. A sphinx. A mystery. A blank. Unknown. Undefined."

"The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open. Sure, everybody wants to play God, but for me it's a full-time job. What you don't understand, you can make mean anything."