Life is Paper Mache

In the fifth grade everybody made fun of me They called me four eyes And a lot of the time I removed my glasses even though I couldn't see About me they told lies And then one day in class we started working on something new Poetry, my teacher said, was the lesson of the week And complaints began being slung around like monkeys throw (you know) in cages at a zoo But from my own mind ideas began to leak And one day, of that special week for me, my teacher read my poetry aloud Telling me how great it was, and how I should write a book I blushed under the other students' mean looks But in my heart happiness blossomed the way darkness delicately takes over a storm cloud I know what you think you're going to hear I know all the cliches You think I'm going to say that I write to express myself, to make it through year after year But for me life is like one big paper mache Every single day I ache, but I put the little pieces of life together until it looks alright And I write for myself and everyone else who feels likes me I write to tell them, for their dreams, to fight If no one believes in them, and even though I don't know them I do