I feel like the world will not stop turning,
From my mistakes I choose not to stop learning,  
We only know what we're told,
&& somehow I feel The universe has already been sold.
Bought for a dollar,
Or maybe given to a scholar,
What about people like me?
Who are little,
& have to scream to be heard by the taller?
What about the ones who don't want to conform?
What about us, the outcasts
Or us who easily take a room by storm?
You  call us trouble, because we're not like you,
But we're simply rebels,
& it's far too late for a truce.