Roses are red, white,yellow, and pink.

They are still roses..right?

so why must people who are different, cry themselves to sleep at night?

I'm know as a slut, geek, or a freak.

They call us names, play their nasty games,

just for their popularity, and fame.

Little do they know what's really going on.

I'm expected to be smart, funny, and kind, all the time.

But do they know I'm sad, depressed, and ready to die?

So all who different  and known as insane,

walk with me through memory lane.

Get rid of your stress, and all of your worries and meet me in the house, you better hurry.

Because this house will fly high to a place far in the sky.

Where I can be me, and we can be free. 

Meet me in the house, the house in Maple Street.

Why are we so disrespected? Hiding our true selves, feeling neglected. 

I say no more to all this diskreet, I'm running away to the house on Maple Street.

Why do we let the colour of our skin define who we are. To me, we are all shining stars.

All who is to big, to tall, to skinny, to short, not smart to smart, or simply not enough.

Meet me at the house on Maple Street.

Last time I checked, roses are red, white, yellow and pink. 

They are still roses.... Right?