Scraping Around This Dear Old Town

every morning we wake, ever hour that pass we say the same thing of yesterday.
i wear what i want, and everyone cares.
im what everyone here fears.
i do what i want, and say what i want.
im slammed in lockers and shoved in places that i dont fit.
thoughts of wrists that need to be slit.
but i wont do it, no not today,
maybe tomarrow.
tho i highly doubt that.
i am what they wish to be, what they kill to be.
yet they push me around and are rude to me.
they want me to drop this act. they want the 'sweet one' back. but she is gone, like the older woman of a different time. this town is too mean to call mine.
its not my home, its not my place. its this dear old town...that we wont leave till we die.
so ill pretend im happy....
im to different to live.....

yet to rare to die...