In the fifth grade everybody made fun of me
They called me four eyes
And a lot of the time I removed my glasses even though I couldn't see
About me they told lies
And then one day in class we started working on something new
Poetry, my teacher said, was the lesson of the week
And complaints began being slung around like monkeys throw (you know) in cages at a zoo
But from my own mind ideas began to leak
And one day, of that special week for me, my teacher read my poetry aloud
Telling me how great it was, and how I should write a book
I blushed under the other students' mean looks
But in my heart happiness blossomed the way darkness delicately takes over a storm cloud
I know what you think you're going to hear
I know all the cliches
You think I'm going to say that I write to express myself, to make it through year after year
But for me life is like one big paper mache
Every single day I ache, but I put the little pieces of life together until it looks alright
And I write for myself and everyone else who feels likes me
I write to tell them, for their dreams, to fight
If no one believes in them, and even though I don't know them
I do