I live in my own world, filled with fantasy and science fiction,
Constantly writing, pencil to paper, pure addiction.
I never let anybody in, I never let anybody out,
They labeled me an outcast, they think they know what I'm about.
My mind is a complicated thing, impossible for anyone to understand,
My mood can change within a second; nothing I do is planned.
I sit alone in class, stranded with my own imagination,
They continue to stare, giving me nothing but frustration.
I ultimately don't care about anything they say,
Because they're stuck-up drama queens either way.
Most of them give me passing glares in the halls, as if saying I don't belong,
But I just keep walking unafraid, singing my silent song.
I see their small crowds in the corners of my eyes,
And I think how lucky I am to not be sucked into their lies.
I don't bottle up my feelings, I'm not that kind of girl,
I let my thoughts run wild, like ribbon as they unfurl.
Someday I'll be written in history,
Known as the girl who wrote of secrets and mystery.
They will think back to their forgotten memories, knowing they've seen me before,
But I was just simple background noise that they had to ignore.