I wrote what was in my heart on paper
and bled myself dry with the ink from my pen.
I couldn’t bare are this any longer.
My story had to be told.

And if no one listened,
I would still pour out every word.
All my colors would not change.
Cause I was me,
even when others could not see.

So the words they whisper cut like a knife,
slicing though my pages.
Try as they might,
they couldn't tear me apart.
Because even with scars,
I will tell my story.

And if no one listened,
I would still pour out every word.
All my colors would not change.
Cause I was me,
even when others could not see.

All my colors would not change.
Cause I was me,
even when others could not see.