I’d like to introduce myself,
I’m not full of beauty or of wealth.
I worry about the tiny things,
like falling books and diamond rings.
And inside the walls of my head
The index in my brain shows me that I’m insane
for the things that I love.
The thoughts I hold within show I’m a giver and a friend
to the ones that I love.
I am what I am because of who I’ve been
and what I want to become.
This person is me and she will always be
because she’s the only one
who is me.
I am, I am, I am just another face in the crowd.
But I can tell you I am
capable of screaming out loud.
I’m more than words on a page,
and I’m more than notes to be sung.
I am passion. I am rage.
I am ready, where’s my stage?
I’m a new project, just begun.
I am me, the only one.
And every face in that crowd has a story so loud
that makes then so different
and every face has a life full of love, full of strife,
and I am not content
to say that outside appearance
can possibly be reference
to a humans whole soul
that there’s not a severance
between their words and what they feel
don’t say that their actions are really
whats hidden deep inside.
Cause humans always lie.
I’m fearless when I need to be,
But I still get scared so easily.
Cause inside the walls of my head
Are echoes still jumbling