1900
All I know is I’ve been hurt like you,
Your friends talked about you
Mine backstabbed me too.
Despising you for their little reasons;
I had been there too many seasons.
They laughed when you didn’t look your best
Or cause your style not like the rest.
I been acquainted with the butterflies that fly in my chest
Despite I know who I am
And I know I’m blessed
I know I‘ve been scorned
My mom died slow
I grieved and mourned
I built brick walls
Still I suffered the storm
Such delicate stories are bound to be torn.
