25

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I’m just 25 and I know I’m so young, but I feel like I’ve lived 100 years.

Put in a box just like everyone else, but I keep saying fuck all the fears.

I know you don’t get it and I try to explain, but I just keep repeating myself.

Until I’m blue in the face at the end of the day,

because we both know there’s no other way.

So next time you tell me it’s this or it’s that,

and the world is just black or it’s white,

I’ll paint it all blue, green and purple too,

just to show you I’ve always been right.

I’ve always been one to go my own way, to build walls against tides rushing in.

But sometimes it hurts to peek over the fence and get burned by the sun shining in.

It’s beauty in the sky and keep us alive,

but it hurts if you stay just too long.

So I stay on my side with my walls built so high,

because I don’t trust those who casually stop by.

I’m just 25 and I shouldn’t say this because I should be young and carefree,

but with the scars on my heart and the thoughts in my head,

I find it hard to be me.

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