I don't give a fuck how many people you slept with.

Or how fucking messy your fucking bed is.

I don't want to see the empty vodka bottles, fag packets, condoms...

And I am definately grossed out by your used tampons.

You are the 41st most disliked person
in Britain. (That's a claim to fame if ever there was one).

And you say you feel 'vulnerable' - is that suprising, when you expose yourself to the nation. Hardly.

But there is something quite beautiful about you, 'Mad Tracey from Margate'. Something hauntingly beautiful about your honesty, the harsh facts you relate.

Sexual Abuse. Molestation. Rape.
Promiscuity.
That bloke you wanked off, aged 11,
in the Margate sea -

How fucking old was he?

Not his fault you say.
What's a man to do you say.
It was of my doing you say.
I instigated it you say.

Was flattered by his interest, you say.
Made me proud to be female, you say.
Felt powerful, you say.
Felt good to be me.

102 lovers in 32 years. But
no-one to love you.

Will you let yourself be loved?
Always scared they'll leave you.
Keep pushing them away
until eventually they do.

I'm sorry I misunderstood you.