Maybe the moon is looking down at me Convincing to be radiant as I can be Asking me to never take a rest And keep on doing my best
There are times when I hate being a writer. I feel too much. Words tend to flow uncontrollably. And it sucks.
The things I am are, All part of me. If they weren't there, Who would I be?
Bully as much as you want, 'Cause, I still won't hide that fact, that I am already Nineteen, and I am 4'11.