My mind may be weak,
but the words i've spoke,
have not gotten their rightful moments,
have been built just to get broken,
and that wasn't what I had chose,

For my words have spoken,
louder than your screams on froze over mountain tops highest peaks,
so loud they will make the snow lung and leap down,

My words have been stronger then body's covered in satin gowns,
But my words are like ghost towns making people white and corps like,
But unlike the pen and paper that is silent,
I can speak these tales of tyrants to beauty,
but I never complete this duty for my mouth feels like foreign tongues,

I try to speak from the heart inside my lungs but words,
and towards the end of my spiel,
I feel like what I said wasn't real,
or the appeal I was going for.

you shut a door on me and my thoughts,
like your my boss who doesn't have to listen to my words,
and discord all the things i've endured.

I've matured enough to know I can't be asking for a cure,
but maybe if you were able to listen to me,
and stop disagreeing to start with,
I'd feel like I wouldn't have to pitch my life story as real,
instead of its normal appeal of a called myth,
because with my ****** life I'd make up **** about what happened?