Rainbows and butterflies,

And cupcakes and sweets,

And coke cans and short skirts,

And all that’s not me,

High heels and crop tops,

And eighteen rated films,

I hide in a long books,

While they yell at me,

They think that I’m weird,

For not liking what they do,

So what, like I care,

I’m not like them,

But they think that I’m wrong,

But we’re just different,

I’d rather have loud music,

And crime drama DVDs,

Books over six hundred pages,

Or the odd Glamour magazine,

They think they’re so pretty,

In some eyes they are,

But they don’t follow fashion,

Or care about trends,

Maybe I’m pretty,

Just different to them.


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