Once upon a time, I was five years old,
and it didn't matter that my hair was so short,
that my glasses were big, and my socks would show;
asking questions made you curious and smart,
and your clothes didn't matter, because they'd get ***** anyway.

A few years later, I was eight years old
at a brand new school with a patch on my eye,
so I bought new clothes to make myself stand out;
but the only thing that worked was the one reading eye,
so I stopped being different and I started being quiet.

Another three years, and I was in sixth grade
with the same classmates and a new set of rules
where my clothes mattered more and my brain mattered less;
and the girls didn't like me 'cuz I never spoke up
and the boys all snickered when I tried to make a joke.

Now it is five years later, and I'm sixteen years old,
and most of them from junior high I don't see anymore;
but I still can't take compliments because I don't believe they're true.
After years of believing the ever-spoken phrase, I know that
sticks and stones do break my bones, but words hurt even more.