I play the nice quiet smart kid.
I act like I don’t do anything wrong.
I’m the angel every teacher wants in their class.
No one knows what goes through my mind.
No one knows how I really am.
They don’t know how I feel.
They don’t know how I hated them at one point or another.
They don’t understand why I love shows pretty much based off of death, dying, and stupidity.
They don’t know why I make fun of my nonexistent father’s name.
They don’t know why I’m so ‘crazy’.
They will never know why I cry.
They don’t understand why I don’t talk to them.
They only understand ‘gimme this’ and ‘gimme that’.
They don’t understand the statement ‘Gimme is what got you here’.
They only know that I’m this nice, giving person, but not that I’m the person that loves to sit quietly by myself or with a couple of people and just relax, have a little fun, and have a couple crazy conversations.
They really don’t understand that nice people don’t stay around mean spirited people that abuse them.
I’m not like Billy and Irwin from the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy; I won’t just sit there and keep going back to Mandy only for her to abuse me more.
I cry, hurt, and hide away behind little miss nice girl.
They don’t understand that little miss nice girl is a hurt, little girl that cries and wonders who she really is.
They don’t understand that little miss nice girl is not, was not, and will never be me.