This is not true
this is not false
it's not real
yet every page has a pulse
if words can describe
all the feelings i have inside
I don't want to write them.

All the things they call me
all the tears i have shed
have been in vain
that's not the way my life will be led.

They tell me I'm ungrateful
disgraceful
full of spite
but how else am I supposed to act
if that's how you treat me
disgrace
spiteful
ingrate.

The words within
the words without meaning
lulled me into a state of dreaming
from which I can't awaken.

They tell me it's guys who keep it bottled up
girls talk about it and cry
I don't.

I'm not gifted
or talented in fact
I'm not bright
I'm not dull
I'm not sure what i'm doing
ever.

Darkness doesn't come close
light isn't quite vacant
if magic was real
it would shy away from this void.

This is not true
this is not false
it's not real
yet every page has a pulse.