Okay.
Game face.
Here we go.
I've got bipolar disorder.
My *'s not in order.
I'm overweight.
I'm always late.
I've got too many things to say.
I rock mom jeans,
cat earrings,
extrapolate my feelings.
My family is dysfunctional,
but we have a good time.
We're killing each other.
They tell us from the time we're young to hide the things that
we don't like about ourselves, inside ourselves.
I know I'm not the only one who's spent so
long attempting to be someone else.
Well, I'm over it.
I
don't care if the world knows what my secrets are.
Secrets are.
I
don't care if the world
knows what my secrets are.
Secrets are.
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
I can't think straight.
I'm so gay.
Sometimes I cry a whole day.
I care a lot.
Use an analog clock and never know when to stop.
And I'm passive aggressive.
I'm scared of the dark and the dentist.
I love my butt and won't shut up.
And I never really grew up.
They tell us from the time we're young
to hide the things that we don't like
about ourselves, inside ourselves.
I'm not the only one who spent so long attempting to be someone else.
Well, I'm over it.
I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are.
Secrets are.
I
don't care if the world knows what my secrets are.
Secrets are.
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
Secrets are.
Secrets are.
My secrets are secrets.
Secrets are.
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?
So what?