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All I know is I’ve been hurt like you,

Your friends talked about you

Mine backstabbed me too.

Despising you for their little reasons;

 I had been there too many seasons.

They laughed when you didn’t look your best

Or cause your style not like the rest.

 I been acquainted with the butterflies that fly in my chest

 Despite I know who I am

And I know I’m blessed

 I know I‘ve been scorned

My mom died slow

I grieved and mourned

 I built brick walls

Still I suffered the storm

Such delicate stories are bound to be torn.