I've never written a poem
that ends in tra-la-la
and i still haven't.
that ends in tra-la-la
and i still haven't.
right that was cuz i was bored in class
and this one is cuz this chick was making fun of me and my crappy poems
People laugh at her,
People stare.
If she died,
They probably wouldn't care.
They make fun of her because she's different.
She can't help the way she is.
It was the way she was brought up.
Between them and her, what's the difference?
She doesn't know why people hate her.
She's done nothing wrong.
She's hurt no one,
She can't believe she has put up with this s**t this long.
A while later, teachers found her dead on the floor.
This was beyond what any law could allow.
What they found, they will never forget.
Carved on her wrist were the words 'Am I Perfect Now?'
People stare.
If she died,
They probably wouldn't care.
They make fun of her because she's different.
She can't help the way she is.
It was the way she was brought up.
Between them and her, what's the difference?
She doesn't know why people hate her.
She's done nothing wrong.
She's hurt no one,
She can't believe she has put up with this s**t this long.
A while later, teachers found her dead on the floor.
This was beyond what any law could allow.
What they found, they will never forget.
Carved on her wrist were the words 'Am I Perfect Now?'
