They call me different.
They think I'm weird, when I'm simply independent.
They take my views, and spit upon them.
Make fun of me when I have an accent from living in London.
The thought that me being me is brave-- hasn't even dawned on them.
To wake up in the morning, now a chore.
That even the most fun tasks I don't do anymore.
Because I feel abused, and mis-used, and if I could choose..
I would be someone else.
Sometimes it isn't fun being, "The weird guy who paints his nails".
It's to a point of depression.
But with this pain, I will learn a lesson.
Do you really hate me now? Sorry, just checkin'.
I feel like I was flying high, when suddenly I crashed.
I feel like my heart has turned to complete ash.
I feel as if my skin is made from paper, and my bones are glass.
But I can't complain, it could be worse.
Even when life kind of seems like a curse.
